The Deer Huntress
by Ihsan997
Summary: Confused, convinced, concealing. A young woman struggles with identity, running from her mixed background and the embarrassment of being different. Projection and bullying are poor coping mechanisms, though, leading her to learn some hard lessons about herself and her peers. 17 chapters.
1. Deer 1

The faintest beam of starlight broke through the canopy that night, sending its silver glow onto the floor of the enchanted forest. Bushes obscured much of the view beyond, adding to the dark tranquility of the magical woodland.

A single lone pond sat in that clearing, shimmering as the small fractals of starlight twinkled against the surface. The purest natural mineral water sat still therein, untainted as could be as its waters sat undisturbed. Not even fish lived inside, so untouched and isolated was it. The perfect image of calmness existed there that night, and even the owls and crickets ceased their usual clamor out of respect for the setting nature had set.

Without even rustling the bushes, a single fawn stepped out into the clearing. Light brown with white spots, its big, innocent eyes shined as it gazed upon in those motionless waters. Licking its lips, it walked even closer, those big eyes trained on only one target.

Oblivious was the fawn to the dangers lurking beyond. For the forest is a dark place, and even when so isolated from the civilizations of elves and men, other phantoms still crept through the night. Eyes unseen watched the fawn as it drank, unaware of its own exposure. The little animal drank its fill, thinking that the serenity would never end.

But all things good and bad must come to an end; there was even an end of serenity. And that end cared not for whether those it visited were informed of its coming or not.

 _All of the world will be your enemy, prince with a thousand enemies...and whenever they catch you, they will_ _kill_ _you. But first they must catch you..._

 _-Richard Adams,_ _Watership Down_


	2. Huntress 1

**A/N: hello, dear readers! Welcome to another one of my stories about a member of the Hearthglen family, my little clan of snowflakes living in a world of Warcraft. For reference, you do NOT need to read any of my other stories for this one to make sense; all background information will be given in the narrative itself. Of course, I'd be thrilled if you read my other stories too, but I won't force you to do so.**

 **This story takes place in the year 51 on the Warcraft timeline. To keep things in perspective, remember that the Warlords of Draenor expansion happened in the year 31. This is Azeroth decades in the future, where factions matter a little bit less and the world is a more stable place. Enjoy!**

Issinia Hearthglen gripped the reins of her rented hippogriff a little bit more tightly, grinning with delight as she finally saw the otherworldly lights of Astranaar off in the distance. The forests of Ashenvale were a daunting environment, nearly impenetrable and unviewable when airborne due to the thickness of the canopy. That all covering ceiling of green and purple leaves was deceiving; the enormous trees were often fifty feet high or more, much more in rare cases, and the forest floor itself was a cavernous place.

Ducking her head, she sent the wordless command to the hippogriff to dive, and the feathery flying mount descended until it passed through a nearly hidden opening in the canopy. The darkness of the night sky gave way to the darkness of the enclosed forest floor, greeting her with an avenue of trees as she flew over the road made from blessed moonstones naturally raised from the ground by others of her future profession. Travelers and locals going for strolls walked casually on that road below, unperturbed both by Issinia and the other people flying through on hippogriffs. In that moment, she was just one of the people; one of the children of the stars.

Really, that her parents had even allowed her to take the trip at all was impressive. She breathed deep, taking in the more crisp woodland air and staring forward through the avenue of trees, watching the bustling island city of hallowed out treehouses known as Astranaar. Hers was a conservative, protective family, and she was but fifteen years old; they'd sent her with her godmother Irien on the first leg of the trip from Ratchet, and only allowed her to complete the rest of the journey on her own once Irien had settled in with friends at Raynewood Retreat and left her to fly only within the confines of Nightsong Woods. Which was perfectly fine by Issinia; as long as she could feel what it was like to travel on her own, she was happy.

To say the least, the Hearthglen family as atypical. Her mother was a night elf born before the Sundering, and like most from the generation born before their now lost immortality had even begun, was in her last few decades of life. Her father, a short lived jungle troll, just happened to match up perfectly, and unlike other young elves and half elves, Issinia didn't live under the notion that she'd spend a large portion of her long life with her parents. But as much as that thought upset her, the reality was that she didn't quite fit in with their multiracial community in Ratchet.

Her five siblings were all unique little snowflakes in their own way, branching out in different directions. Issinia, however, had always felt like a Kaldorei at heart; she'd shown promise as a priestess of the moon early on (from infancy, if the prediction of the maternity shrine priestess in Darnassus was correct). During her childhood, the single priestess stationed at the Wailing Caverns in the Barrens taught her once a month and gave her spiritual exercises to practice, but it was the trips she took to Astranaar during breaks from school that she truly valued. Her aunt Unelia was her mother's age, also on her last legs, and also married to an outlander; in her case, a human. Since the family lived in Ashenvale, all of them were totally night elven in culture, her aunt a ranking official at the local temple and the oldest of her two cousins, Corrianna, a volunteer in the Sisterhood of Elune.

Thus, when Issinia had finished school earlier than her siblings, she'd begged their parents for the chance to visit Astranaar early that spring. After a measure of convincing and whining on her part, her parents had agreed on the condition that her godmother chose to accompany her. Lucky for her, Irien was no stranger to pushing envelopes, and was actually quite glad to help the young trainee priestess take her first trip without her siblings.

And so there she was, passing over the wide moat that surrounded the crowded city of Astranaar and flying toward the hippogriff roost as the flightmistress directed her. Even when all she did was land, pay the woman a few silver coins and bounce off of the flight deck, her heart was already pounding.

The island of Astranaar was enormous, perhaps nearly as large as Ratchet's area. As one of the main hubs of night elven civilization and one of their few true 'cities' (most of them had historically lived in small groves), the place had become crowded and packed over the millennia. The small break in the canopy caused by the moat of purified water was almost closed by the enormous trees that dotted the island itself. Hollow and sturdy, many of them featured twisting ramps running around the sides, naturally growing in order to help people ascend to higher floors without the need to build stairs by hand. The branches above were thick enough for a nightsabre to safely walk on, and some of them sprouted from one enormous tree and grew right into the side of another to form an upper level of the city suspended over the ground. Rope bridges linked up a few of the smaller trees at the second and third story level, leaving even the open air above the ground filled with activity and interaction. By elven standards, it was a busy and noisy place, but still about as ancient and traditional as Sentinel cities could be. More than almost anywhere else, Issinia felt at home in her aunt's city. Perhaps even more so than back at Ratchet.

Her two cousins had been waiting for her across the little road, and were already running over to meet her. Both Corrianna and Elindir II were in their mid twenties, but for both elves and half elves, they were more or less considered to still be children. When the family all got together, they certainly acted like it.

"Issa!" Corrianna squealed, dashing over to the larger girl as the two of them clasped hands and spun around in a circle on the grass just off the street. Issinia was a bit shorter than a full blooded jungle troll and Corrianna was a bit shorter than a full blooded night elf, leaving more than a foot of height difference in between them, and their spinning circle was awkward. "You're huge now, how did this happen!"

Blushing from a legitimate sense of embarrassment, she quickly tried to change the subject. "Um, well...kids these days! Hey Eli, come here!" she shouted at her other cousin in an improprietous manner.

Always the least affectionate member of the extended family, Elindir II was every bit the opposite of the deceased great uncle he was named for. Hands folded behind his back, the quieter cousin looked entirely too dour for a young apprentice druid, and he practically dragged his feet as he walked over to her and accepted a hug that he didn't return.

"It's nice to have you here," he replied in an overly formal tone.

"I can't believe auntie and uncle let you come here so early, and by yourself!" Corrianna chirped. At first she dragged Issinia by the hand down the road, but soon enough the teenager from Ratchet was keeping pace and rapidly strolling down the street as Elindir II followed.

Properly formed buildings with walls and roofs lined the roads at that point beneath the canopy, naturally grown but multicolored and vaguely resembling the hand built monstrosities raised by the blood elves. "Me neither!" Issinia replied, her head rolling around as she tried to take the entire scene in. At that time of night, most of the locals were either at work or going about their daily errands, and there was a measure of foot traffic on the road. "The others won't be here for another two weeks, so they're going to miss out on Lunar Festival!"

Corrianna locked arms with her as they walked, simply enjoying the long trip to her house as the two of them chatted and her brother trailed behind. Regardless, the half human did appear a bit confused. "And auntie and uncle aren't upset that you'll be celebrating the holiday separately from them?" she asked inquisitively.

Waving her hand as if it were a small issue, Issinia sent her a wink. "Nah, as long as I'm still with family, they're good. Besides...I prefer staying with you guys anyway."

Even though both of them felt quite happy to see each other, there was a twinge of surprise in Corrianna's expression. Oh...well, okay. We're definitely glad to have you here with us, too!" the smaller but older cousin replied, patting Issinia on the arm. The two of them passed by a smaller street that led to one of the city's many small public garden. "Oh, the shrine of the traveler is here!"

Without warning, Issinia stopped walking and dropped her bag on the side of the road. "Hey!" Elindir II huffed as he bumped right into them, unprepared for the sudden stop.

"Corra, my mentor taught me that it's an ancient tradition to give thanks at traveler's shrines before entering a home or an inn! Let's go!"

Immediately, Issinia pulled her cousin over toward the small side road, deftly dodging around a few other pedestrians. "Are you sure you don't want to go home first and rest for a bit, or at least change out of your riding gear?" she asked, sincerely confused.

"What? Come on, that's not how the tradition goes!" Issinia chortled, honestly thinking the comment to be some kind of a joke. "Come on, less talking, more kneeling!"

Literally stepping over two gnomish converts, Issinia ignored the protests of the little people and knelt inside of the shrine surrounded by Sentinel banners on either side. Now independent from all other factions, the night elves had experienced an upsurge of public assertions of identity that was unrelated to Issinia's own personal development and path in life. Such outward displays of devotion were no longer viewed as too ostentatious, and individuals such as her too full advantage of that fact.

Corrianna sent both gnomes an apologetic look and then knelt down to her cousin, her awkwardness unnoticed by Issinia. The younger of the two focused on pray really fast, trying her best to impress her cousin and show off how devoted she'd become, the irony of such pomp entirely lost on her. As Issinia bowed her head, she felt a sudden sense of relaxation wash over her. No matter how Corrianna reacted, she still felt that Astranaar was her true home rather than Ratchet. Far away from goblins and trolls and outlanders in general, she finally felt like she'd found her place in the world, even if the world hadn't been sent the memo.


	3. Deer 2

Starlight twinkled on the surface of that perfect pond in that perfect clearing, all the universe at rest. The fawn demurely trotted over to the edge, cautiously feeling the soil with a hoof. Moist ground squished underneath, signaling the life giving power of the liquid that bore no fish.

Sprawling its legs out, the fawn leaned its head down in order to drink from the mineral water. Pure and cool, the liquid of life cleansed its throat and left it feeling a sudden sense of calmness, of tranquility, of true serenity. For the longest time the fawn lived as it wanted to in that clearing, undisturbed by the chaos of the world outside. Protected by the ring of bushes, it was completely sheltered and shielded from the difficulties that were to be found beyond.

Without the challenges posed by the lands outside, the fawn was able to enjoy the bounties of that little clearing. A life without fear or hate insulated it, cocooned it, frozen it in a warm stasis as it developed without stimulus or response. There was only the fawn and that which it desires in all of existence, nothing more and nothing less.

But the outside world is real, whether we want to believe in it or not. All the while existence continued outside, ignoring that little clearing that was so far from elves and humans that it went unnoticed. Nothing goes unnoticed forever; whether person or animal, the eyes of the living eventually fell on all things. No statis truly existed, and no serenity went unbroached forever. Indeed, there is no such thing as forever; it is as much a fantasy as is an orphaned fawn drinking from a perfect pond in a perfect clearing with no enemies.

Enemies were very much in existence. Two yellow eyes peered at that little fawn, clashing with the beautiful dark green of the bushes as it stared. All at once the illusion was shattered, and for the first time - the very first time - fear and hate became very real to the innocent creature. Shaking and trembling, the fawn's skinny legs quaked as it realized those two yellow eyes were staring right at it, focused and intent and very much undeterred by the nonexistent barrier from the outside world.

Run, little one. Run while you can.


	4. Huntress 2

**A/N: if the chapters with the fawn aren't clear, then keep in mind that they aren't supposed to be until the end. For the time being, I won't even say what those chapters are or whether or not they're 'real' in the sense of my continuum. Keep in mind that I don't mean to hint that they aren't real by this note; I'm not hinting at anything at all. Sometimes, it's more fun as an author to release control and allow readers the freedom to decide.**

The extended family proved to be quite a curious split. To outsiders, it often seemed confusing, perhaps even amusing in some level. To Issinia, however, it made perfect sense.

Her family were the Hearthglens, named after an alias her mother had adopted after the loss of her people's immortality. It wasn't exactly an elven name, but then again, neither was 'Cecilia,' the personal name that Issinia's mother had chosen as a part of her alias. From a night elf mother and a jungle troll father had sprung six children in Ratchet, though to add to the confusion, two of Issinia's siblings were adopted. They were every much as members of the family as the others, but because they were full blooded night elves, they looked quite different and often caused strangers to assume that they weren't related. But they were, and the whole family were surprisingly stable and well off despite the chaos of the world.

Her aunt's family retained the name Swiftfoot, which had been the family name since long before the War of the Ancients. Unlike Cecilia, however, the older sister Unelia had raised a more modest family with her human husband: one daughter and one son, both living with them in Astranaar, just a day's flight from their ancestral village known as Serenity Grove.

One side of the family half human, the other side half troll, both sides half elf. What wasn't to be understood?

Pushing aside her irritation at the occasional odd stares she received from outlanders, Issinia resigned herself to enjoy her stay as the young trio approached the Swiftfoot residence. Grown naturally and hollowed out, the three story tree house was comfy but not quaint, featuring not only all the amenities that a family would need but also ample space for leisure and relaxation. Stepping up the naturally grown ramp that wound around the thick trunk, Issinia followed her two cousins inside, her burden lightened after Corrianna had scolded Elindir II into carrying her bags for her.

"Home sweet home!" Issinia sighed happily as they pushed aside the silk drape covering the doorway and entered. The familiar circular pattern of the rooms greeted her as she walked in, even the kitchen counter and the bookshelves wrapping around the curved outside wall in the same way. "It's so good to be back!"

The pile of unkempt pillows and quilts laying in the rug in the center of the bottom floor signaled that her aunt and uncle were still outside. Otherwise, the entire house would have been straightened up and tidied, which Issinia would have preferred. Regardless, she didn't have room to blame anybody for occasional messiness, and gladly accepted the convenient nest of fabric as she kicked her flying boots off outside and flopped down in the center of the room.

Smaller footsteps pattered over toward her and she braced herself for the impact. Flopping down on top of her, Corrianna cast her lighter frame in a perpendicular fashion, creating a sort of letter X to mark the spot of their testament to laziness. The two of them just laid there for a moment, basking in the knowledge of their lack of responsibility for the next few weeks before the resident man rained on their parade.

"This is boring," Elindir II complained, letting Issinia's suitcases thump against the floor as he squatted on a couch cushion.

"Message received, o pooper of parties," Corrianna replied, her sarcasm unusually biting. Her brother continued to make his boredom known to them, staring at the wall as he circled up on his cushion. Raising herself up enough to comfortably talk, Corrianna tried to come up with a semblance of a plan. "It's going to be a while before mom and dad get back; what should we do until then?" she asked.

Issinia mulled the question over in her head for a few moments before answering the question with another question. "Well, the first order of business will be dropping my gear off so it can be cleaned. Is that place run by the refugee family from Felwood still open?"

"You mean the one that has the dish with the free frozen blueberries at the reception area?"

"Yeah, that one. I can _never_ forget that one," Issinia chortled, memories of berry fights among her entire family flashing before her eyes. "They're pretty thorough, and I always like supporting that family."

"Alright then, we can stop by there. It's also right next to that card store where they let people play Hearthstone matches in the back for free as long as they buy one token booster pack." Corrianna glanced over toward Issinia's bags, noticing the bulge in the outer pockets. "I see you brought your deck with you. Do you want to try a game against those two ladies from Stardust? I'm still mad that they beat us last time you were here."

Not even shifting as she laid face down on the sheets, Issinia spoke downwards. "Actually, I'd like to see the expansion work they did at the meditation pond at the main temple complex, if you don't mind," she said in a voice muffled by comforter cloth.

Corrianna shifted off of her, glancing over toward the suitcases in the corner. "The public bathhouse is about...probably the least crowded it will be all night, by this hour. Do you want to drop by there first and then see the temple?"

"You do stink after all that flying, Issa."

"Eli!"

"Well, I would like to shower and freshen up, and then we could drop by flying gear off at the laundromat," Issinia relied, valiantly bearing the slur and giving herself a proverbial pat on the back for doing so. "By the time we return, auntie and uncle might be back from their hike."

Since she was on the top of their two person pile, Corrianna rose first, intentionally stepping on her brother's foot as she walked across the single room on the bottom floor. "Here, let's grab something you can change into at the bathhouse," she said while opening up one of Issinia's suitcases on her own and sorting through all the clothes. "There will be plenty of time to rest once mom and dad get back."

"A proper shower after two and a half days of flying is all the rest I need!"

Once outside, the two of them made their way toward the public bathhouse, leaving Elindir II to clean up the house before Issinia's aunt Unelia and uncle Johan returned from their early evening walk around the environs of Astranaar. Despite her travel fatigue, Issinia cherished the opportunity to survey the city that she felt more attached to than even Ratchet.

Even though Issinia was only fifteen years old, she'd already seen plenty of change in her time. Originally, the continents had all been separated from one another; Kalimdor was shrouded in mist for ten millennia until the Alliance and the Horde sailed from across the ocean and landed on the shore. The night elves had fought them both at first, seeing little difference between two factions that both exploited nature for their own material gain. For a mercifully brief period, the night elves had compromised on their principles under the previous and longest serving High Priestess and picked a side, becoming members of the Alliance for a period of time. Issinia had grown up under that baffling dichotomy, and it was just a few years ago that the Sentinels had finally separated as their own faction again, just as they always had been previously. In part, the decision by the current High Priestess was a reaction to the Forsaken leaving the Horde, returning Azeroth to the state it had been in just after the Third War: four factions respectively led by humans, orcs, night elves and undead of all races, alongside numerous neutral organizations and lesser factions.

The split had been acrimonious, to say the least. Even though the night elves had originally been their own faction, many in the Alliance reacted as if they'd back stabbed longtime compatriots, not realizing that for a race such as the Kaldorei who had many individuals that were over ten thousand years old, the mere quarter of a century during which they were a member of that faction was like the blink of an eye. Regardless of any acrimony between them, the split had ultimately done little to harm the economic might of the Allince, and it had done little to increase animosity with the Horde beyond preexisting levels.

If anything, the renewal of the Sentinels as an independent faction had done wonders for international relations. No longer tied up in the conflicts and interests of humans, dwarves and draenei, the night elves were able to more aggressively pursue their own interests. Not only did the Horde willingly declare a total withdrawal from Ashenvale and half of Azshara, but they'd also given up their claims to the vast majority of Desolace, Feralas and the Stonetalon Mountains. The agreements led to a cessation of most hosilities, and the Sentinels stood back and watched as the Alliance and the Horde continued their pointless, petty wars far away from northern Kalimdor, Feralas and Silithus.

Those changes were all apprent in Astranaar. In order to make the transition as comfortable as possible, all of the draenei and worgen living in night elven territory were allowed to stay and retain their land holdings and bank accounts. To make the faction seem more modern and less racialist, the current High Priestess even offered all draenei and Gilnean humans citizenship if they renounced all ties to the Alliance. Quite a few of the worgen accepted, though many of the draenei were reluctant to leave their human, dwarven and gnomish brethren due to religious differences; Light worshippers often regarded Elune as a pagan idol (once again proving in Issinia's mind why the Kaldorei were better off leaving the faction entirely). Even those brethren of the draenei were allowed to remain as long as they renewed their visas, though they had to accept the fact that they were suddenly of equal standing to numerous tauren who were now considered resident aliens just like them, the modern legal system that the humans had introduced being used against them.

The system fit with the modernization scheme enacted by the Sentinels. Rather than a race based nation, the Sentinels were a real faction, accepting any members who swore to protect the balance of nature. Old allies such as the Timbermaw tribe of furbolgs and the Shadowtooth clan of dark trolls were joined by most sentient races native to northern Kalimdor, creating a multicultural faction that was essentially immune to charges of bigotry from the Alliance or Horde.

Moving around a lost looking draenei merchant riding an elekk that pulled a cart full of imported fabric, Issinia gazed upon the relatively international scene as she and Corrianna walked up to the rows of roofed shower stalls behind the high walls of the public bathhouse. Being biracial herself, Issinia could never fault outlanders for wanting to do business or even live in Kalimdor, but she did feel a swell of pride every time she saw Sentinel banners flying on the trees rather than the Alliance flags she'd grown up around as a child.

Once they'd finished - since Corrianna had decided to freshen up as well - they dropped Issinia's riding gear off at the laundromat and walked toward the main temple complex. Being the largest night elf city in the region, Astranaar was home to a respectable and ornate compound containing multiple forums, prayer halls and a main sanctuary for official business. There were smaller shrines dotting the city, but those were for lesser acts of worship; Issinia was interested in seeing the work that had been done at the meditation pond where locals could find a quiet space that wasn't used for discussing the mundane.

Just like the bathhouse, the temple complex wasn't particularly crowded at that time of night. Issinia and Corrianna experienced no trouble gaining entry to the garden housing the meditation pond, though when they did arrive, Issinia paused at the not entirely welcome sight of familiar faces.

Also sitting just inside the entrance were two women from the ancestral village of Issinia's mother and aunt. Most night elves had lived in very small settlements during the Long Vigil, in their case a village of only twenty five women known as Serenity Grove. In such a settlement, everybody knew everybody and their family, and even after the grove had been abandoned due to despoilment by the Alliance, the former inhabitants all kept in touch. The Hearthglen and Swiftfoot families were close to the two women in question, but as Issinia watched the two of them sitting cross legged and facing each other, she couldn't let herself feel the joy of reconnecting with her mother and aunt's neighbors of several millennia.

The larger of the two women, Niorith, shut her eyes tightly and smiled as the two women meditated together. A police officer in Astranaar, Niorith was a curious example of duality: assertive and unflinching in her duties while in the job, yet cripplingly shy when off duty. Her black hair was similar in color to Corrianna's, a sort of blue black color that was fairly rare among pureblooded night elves. She sat demurely, her body language a bit reserved in comparison to that of her companion.

Delebria was shorter, more wiry and tough bodied yet unemployed and technically on disability support despite still being capable. Outgoing and extroverted by elven standards, Delebria was the leader of the pair, and seemed to quite enjoy tracing lines on Niorith's palms with her fingers.

Issinia scowled. "Just look at those two...and in the temple complex, of all places!" she whispered in disapproval at the couple.

Corrianna hadn't noticed the two until then, and looked a bit shocked by Issinia's comment. "I don't get it...what do you mean?"

"Well, look!" Issinia replied while pointing toward the way Delebria clasped Niorith's longer fingers between her own. "How could they do that in public?"

For a few seconds, Corrianna watched the pair as they both seemed to meditate, oblivious to the inappropriate nature that Issinia was reading into the simple form of physical contact. "You mean, how could they hold hands in public?"

"Of course!"

Corrianna furrowed her medium length eyebrows. "Issa, your dad is Darkspear...don't female trolls hold hands with their friends in public? And literally nobody at all has a problem with it?"

Her tranquility disrupted, Issinia found herself irritated by the suggestion that she wasn't fully Kaldorei, which she was absolutely sure had been her cousin's implication. "What? Corra, what does some tribe off in Durotar have to do with us here in Kalimdor?"

"Uh...Durotar is still a part of-"

"I'm talking about the children of the stars, focus. Our people don't hold hands, not even with friends. And those two definitely aren't friends!"

Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, Corrianna seemed entirely skeptical of the clear logic Issinia had presented her with. "Issa, I really don't care what they are or what they do. They're just touching each other's hands, I really don't see what's wrong with that," she said in exasperation.

Doubt crept in to the back of Issinia's mind, and she began to question her cousin's devotion to the one true faith. "Fine, Corra, whatever," Issinia replied while turning away and walking toward a different part of the meditation area.

Seating herself down, Issinia faced toward a bonsai tree growing in the center of a square of smooth moonstones raked into a swirling pattern. Corrianna sat next to her, though the two of them didn't speak for the duration of their time at the area around the pond. Determined to prove her devotion and show her cousin what was best for her, Issinia only pretended to meditate as she tired to reassure herself of her worldview. She'd make sure to convince her cousin of her erroneous ways. She had to!


	5. Deer 3

Fear shook the little fawn for the first time in its short life. So little of the world was known to it; in a way, so little of the world truly existed in its big, innocent eyes. So many experiences were unknown, so much incomprehensible, so numerous the hazards posed. The end result was a stunted being, unprepared to face the reality of simply existing in a world that elicited fear.

Hate stung the little fawn for the first time in its short life. Two yellow circles stared at it, wild eyed and determined as an ill intent that seemed impossible loomed over the entire clearing. The mere notion of ill will was so foreign, so alien, that the fawn found itself unable to react or even think at first. It had done nothing wrong, and yet there it was, trapped and cornered.

The first vibration of a deep growl ended all of its thoughts. Baritone and grating, the sound created by the shaking of the wolf's lungs almost caused the fawn to wish for death, anything to avoid that hate flowing out of the two yellow eyes. A mount that was impossibly wide opened up, revealing sharp points for teeth instead of flat pegs. Even aspect of the wolf's appearance was offensive, an affront to all that was pure and beautiful in life. The bark that emitted from that gaping mouth was as horrifying as it was loud.

The fawn stumbled, never having run in its life. Never before had it received such negativity, had it been denied what it desired, had it been constrained in any way. To flee was so odd a concept that the small animal couldn't even attempt an escape at first, honestly in denial that another living being could possibly wish it harm.

The fawn waited for too long, and the wolf seized the opportunity. Leaping on the little fawn, the wolf sank its teeth into the flesh of the cute animal's back. Jabbing the soft skin with its teeth, the wolf drew blood from a being that didn't even know red was a color, sending a wave of pain up the core of a creature which had never known pain. Stained teeth tore holes in that skin, raking it into a bloody mess as the wolf bit the back of the fawn.

That pain was what it needed; the fawn broke into a full speed escape, too shocked to even feel it's level of fear increase. Its back bleeding, the fawn bolted, not even looking for a route by which to escape as it simply panicked and reacted without acting.


	6. Huntress 3

The first few days at her aunt and uncle's house had been spectacular for Issinia. Without her parents there to supervise, she was indulged and given little structure in her daily activities since her relatives were simply glad to see her. Those were the days she'd always desired so much: staying up late, sleeping in late, and not deciding what she wanted to do with her time until the night of. Those visits constituted a special time.

Her life back at Ratchet was a world apart from this. Despite the occasionally chaotic nature of the household, her parents ran a tight ship, so to speak. Everybody woke up on time, performed their own chores, went to the (rather overpriced) Steamwheedle academy and then showed their homework to their godmother. Even in their teens, they all woke up and went to bed at specific times and usually planned their weekends at least three days ahead of time. It was efficient, it was effective, it was useful, but it just didn't seem as fun. Whenever she went to her aunt and uncle's house, rules went out the window and she could do as she pleased without forethought. Why couldn't life always be that way?

Not all of her trip to Astranaar could be positive, however. In particular, one portion of it was bound to cause sadness by its very nature. It was a necessary and not altogether unwelcome part of every single trip, but that didn't mean it was a pleasant time by any means.

Her younger cousin Elindir II was named after the great uncle of all of them, Elindir I. Both individuals were restoration druids, preferring the ways of mending damage done to nature or healing disruptions in the balance. Both of them were rather quiet, both bore the last name of Swiftfoot, and both of them had amber eyes...the similarities honestly ended there. Even if the younger Elindir hadn't inherited the older one's temperament, he was still a devoted great nephew, and visited the old man's grave more often than anybody else in the family. At least once a week, every week, a visitation occurred, either in the form of growing a wreath or simply talking and hoping that someone, across the stages of life, the words would be heard.

Thus it was no surprise that for once, Elindir II actually led one of the excursions of the three younger members of the family. It wasn't a long trip by any means - their great uncle had requested that his colleagues from the Cenarion Circle inter him without fanfare, in the open cemetery where any passerby could visit his final resting place. Despite having lived a long, proud life of fourteen centuries, the man had insisted that he wasn't better than anybody else, and felt undeserving of a special tomb to be constructed in his honor. No, Elindir Swiftfoot had been buried in a normal grave next to other ancient elves, a few younger elves who'd died from unnatural causes and outlanders who'd been passing through. His colleagues invoked nature to reclaim his body, returning him to the soil of the planet so that even in death, he'd give back to nature in any way he could.

Usually laconic and ornery, Elindir II became a different person when discussing their great uncle. He actually smiled, not viewing death as the tragedy it was to most people, even if he did feel the sense of sadness and loss. For Issinia, the visits were difficult; she'd been only three years old when their great uncle had passed away, but that was old enough for her to remember the sound of his voice. Gnomes had developed photography just around the time Corrianna had been born, and Issinia only remembered what the man looked like via those photos.

Corrianna, naturally, was affected by the visitations to the cemetery much more than either of the other two. Even if all three of them were half elves, they were also half other races as well. Being half troll, Issinia was caught between the thoughtful stoicism of an elf and the less emotional, more instinctual nature of her jungle troll father. Her cousins, however, were half human - possibly the most emotional race on Azeroth aside from orcs. Elindir II was a special case due to his general detachment from the world, but Corrianna was less elven and more human when it came to the issue of loss. For the entire brief walk to the cemetery, she'd remained quiet, and even shed a few tears when they reached the clearing between three hills.

The place was just opposite the island of Astranaar, on the banks of the moat and in distant view of the city itself, but the somber nature of the area lent it a sense of tranquility. Wisps floated around the perimeter but not straight through, and even the crickets and birds remained silent, similar to their behavior whenever near the more isolated villages and groves of the night elves. A team of treants stood guard, looking outward from the passageway between the hills as the non sentient beings carried out their duty for eternity, very similar to how the older night elves had been during the Long Vigil. The three young people passed inside, murmuring a special prayer used upon entering the resting places of the fallen before they found their great uncle's plot.

No different from the other graves, his was marked by a wide, oval stone carved with archaic elven runes that had fallen out of use ages ago. Inside was a shining light, not a wisp but a naturally conjured for of illumination similar to the lampposts lining the roads in Sentinel territory. All three of them knelt down, thinking of the man who'd been the closest thing any of them had had to a grandparent.

Corrianna reached out and laid a hand on the carved tombstone, feeling the lines of the runes beneath her fingers. Her other hand clutched a shawl she'd worn for the occasion, though the walking boots she was wearing clashed and irritated Issinia somewhat.

"Hey, uncle Eli," Corrianna whispered, flashing a sad smile when the light inside of the tombstone blinked for a second.

As touching as the scene was, Issinia felt her sensibilities and those of her family threatened. Corrianna's reaction to the blinking like bothered her deeply, and she felt obligated to correct the woman's dogma.

"In a technical sense, uncle Eli can't hear you," she whispered, trying to be as gentle as possible when correcting what was clearly an error.

Corrianna didn't turn toward her, nor did she drop the sad smile. "I like to believe that, in a way, he sort of can," she whispered even more quietly.

"Um...Corra, that's not how it works. Didn't you read the scripture on this? When people die, they become wisps and love in the boughs of the trees."

Despite the absolute kindness of her necessary reminder, Corrianna turned toward toward her with a slightly diminished smile. "Thank you for your opinion, Issa," she said flatly.

"That's not my opinion, that's a fact. The Sisterhood of Elune circulates the official doctrine-"

"I volunteer with the Sisterhood, Issa, thank you very much," Corrianna replied in a very curt tone. "I don't need to hear a trainee priestess to pontificate about what she does or doesn't approve of personally."

Issinia's jaw dropped open. For a few seconds she just knelt there, absolutely taken aback and shocked by what her cousin had just told her. The defiance was not only audacious but improprietous flagrant, and Issinia made a mental note to review her thesaurus later that evening so she could properly evoke just how inappropriate the comment was.

"You...what...Corra, this isn't about personalities! What I'm telling you is objective fact, why are you attacking me?"

"Calm down, Issa."

"Don't flip this onto me as a defense mechanism - I'm perfectly calm! You're not calm, you're engaging in ad hominem attacks because you don't want to accept the truth!"

"Keep your voice down."

"My voice is do - the volume of my voice is sufficiently low!" Issinia shook her head, too clever to be tricked by the subtle change in topic. "Corra, you must accept the reality: uncle Eli has become a wisp and may or may not even be among the trees in this specific locality. In the most factual sense, he could be encircling a tree in the Jade Forest for all we know."

"I believe he's right here," Corrianna replied defiantly.

"Wha - what the! What basis do you have for such a belief system at all!"

"My heart."

"That's not a scripturally endorsed basis!"

"I don't care, now buzz off."

Shock. Absolute, utter shock gripped Issinia's very being. Her worst fears for her cousin bubbled up, festering when Corrianna returned to feeling the carved runes of the tombstone with her fingertips as if those runes bore some kind of power.

"Corra, I am going to save you."

The half human raised one of her medium length black eyebrows. "Excuse me?" she asked in surprise.

Shaking her head, Issinia suddenly realized why the goddess had put here there with her cousins on that night, at that time. She took a deep breathe and tried to explain the sudden revelation about her divine mission. "Your faith is weak, Corra, and I need to show you the light of Kaldorei beliefs," she said with the utmost confidence.

Corrianna just looked at her as if she were a two headed ogre mage. "Are you...you're actually serious, aren't you?" she asked incredulously. "Issa, I grew up here in a night elf city. You're from some seedy goblin trading port. What are you going to teach me-"

"My religious education is just as valid as yours!" Issinia shot back, albeit quietly.

"Now I get it...you have an inferiority complex."

"No, I will not allow you to talk about me in this way!" Issinia replied, pulling on her older but smaller cousin's arm to grab her attention again. "Corra, I knew you had been afflicted by doubts from the first day at the temple complex!"

"Issa, just drop it, we're in a graveyard. Let's try to maintain the solemnity here."

"I saw it when you defended those two...those two people!"

At that, Corrianna actually took her shawl off and turned to face Issinia fully. Her tears were long gone as was her smile, and the look of exasperation on her face caused Issinia to feel a pang of guilt. "You mean Delebria and Niorith, who were the shield sisters of my mom and yours for thousands of years?" she asked, a measure of iron in her words. "Talking bad about people behind their backs is compared to biting the flesh of someone's back in the scriptures. Maybe you should read those verses a little bit more."

Silence prevailed once again as Issinia reeled from the comment. As if to drive her point home, Corrianna engaged in a brief staredown that went unreturned for a few seconds before she shifted to face the tombstone again. Elindir II had remained quiet the entire time, shrinking away and probably wishing that he could turn invisible. Unable to respond, Issinia looked down at the soil of the grave, wondering how much she still had to learn if she'd so openly been caught in an error. Her errors weren't comparable to all of those of her cousin, she told herself, but the situation was embarrassing nonetheless.

Feeling contrite, Issinia took Corrianna's shawl from the woman's knee and laid it over the back of her shoulders. Once again making Issinia feel humbled, Corrianna turned her head back halfway and nodded, as if to acknowledge that the spat was over and that they could simply sit and remember the great uncle they'd lost. Issinia was still convinced that Corrianna was wrong and that their great uncle might or might not be able to hear them - there was no guarantee, according to her belief system. She sincerely hoped that the latter was true, if anything, for the fact that she suddenly realized that she'd spoiled much of the mood on what was supposed to be a solemn family outing.


	7. Deer 4

For all of its short life, pain had been unknown to the little fawn. That fear and hate were foreign were already bad enough: it had no mechanisms for coping with the internal sensations caused by the shifting of its heart. But those internal sensations were still just that: internal.

Pain was far, far worse. External, visceral, and tangible. Completely out of the fawn's control, the pain seared the flesh of its back, tormenting it no matter how fast it ran. When noises bothered it, then it always had the option of walking away. When smells irritated its nose, it could avoid the cause of the smell. But pain...this was so different, if the fawn, walked, the pain walked. If the fawn ran, the pain ran. Every nerve ending on its back burned, causing tears to drop from the ducts at the corner of each of its eyes.

In its desperation, it cried out, calling for other beings when it knew of none other than the wolf. In the fawn's world, nothing else existed aside from the trees, the bushes, the clearings...water, berries and grass were its companions. Isolated from the world, it had lived in comfort and ease, never knowing want or poverty. But as it found its entire world threatened, the fawn came to the terrifying realization that its isolation translated over to a total lack of support. Without anyone to run to, the fawn stumbled through the woods, frantic and unsure of what to do as it left a bloody trail behind it.

When the wolf belched, the fawn turned back. Due to its own starvation, the wolf had fallen upon the chunk of flesh it had bitten out of the fawn's back. Without even properly chewing, it had struggled to desperately swallow the meat whole, and now found itself impoverished once again. A pitiful creature in its own right, the wolf's ribs and pelvis poked out from beneath its fur. One of its legs looked mangled and crippled, as if it bore old injuries and defects that hampered its movement. Unable to thrive on its own, the wolf had resorted to preying on the fawn in lieu of a true hunt, its ravenous hunger compelling it beyond all possibility of mercy.

The wolf limped forward, its palette for torment wetted. The fawn screamed, crying again for help from others even when it didn't know if others existed or not. The pain grew, utterly destroying any semblance it once had of joy.


	8. Huntress 4

On the weekend before the Lunar Festival, Issinia found herself on the first family outing that included all five of them together. She'd been out and about in the city with her cousins plenty of times (though Elindir II spent a lot of time alone), and she'd also gone on errands with her aunt and uncle at various times as well. Everyone had been so busy, however, that gathering all of them at one time had proven elusive. Not that any of them were trying to force it: they knew they'd all be in one place at one time eventually. But it was certainly nice once they had all found each other.

That specific evening was the beginning of a weekend 'market' as the locals had dubbed it. It wasn't official, nor was it exactly a market, but it had started to occur in one specific neighborhood of Astranaar on the weekend before the Lunar Festival a few years prior. Basically, the locals would set up stalls and the style of tall, narrow elven tents as they sold mostly secondhand goods. In a number of cases they traded as well, exchanging things for other things much like what was done among the tauren.

In a sign of how strongly the older, more conservative traditions of the Kaldorei had made a comeback, a handful of sentries passed by the outskirts of the crowded neighborhood consisting of blocks of high, multistory treehouses without actually passing through. Durning their period of membership in the Alliance, the Sentinels had begrudgingly accepted many aspects of the modern world such as using money as a medium of exchange and printing identification documents for every individual person in order to ease long distance travel. There had been resistance, according to what Issinia's aunt told her, but eventually modernity forced its own acceptance. At that small local market in a cramped neighborhood, however, the old ways returned with the tacit approval of the city government. Nothing that was bought or sold was taxed, and the sentries tended to look the other way when officially banned items such as the herbs her great uncle used to smoke in his pipe were traded.

As simple as those markets were, they'd become one of Issinia's favorite parts of the holiday season over the past half decade. She'd actually missed the previous year's market, which had saddened her. Unsurprisingly, the school schedule at the private academy in Ratchet (everything in that city was private, in a way, since there was no official government) didn't match up to the Sentinel calendar, and thus she'd celebrated the Lunar Festival at the house of her parents, privately in a port full of unbelievers, for the year 50. That she'd managed to convince her parents to let her reach Astranaar in time for it this year made the arduous flight on her own see, all the more worthwhile.

The five of them walked slowly, chatting with locals in that specific neighborhood who always seemed to have stories to tell. Issinia had insisted on carrying her aunt's woven shopping bag, leaving the ancient, thirteen thousand old temple official to lean on her walking stick in one hand and lock arms with Issinia's uncle with the other. It was cute to see people who were old by the standards of their own respective people's (Johan was nearing his fifties by then) going for a stroll together, and on that particular evening Issinia decided to leave them to walk ahead and enjoy discussing whatever old people discussed with all the other people crammed onto the crowded, narrow roads.

At one point, a group of women native to the Stonetalon Mountains began to push through the crowds while searching for wares. Issinia knew they must have been from Stonetalon and from a relatively small village, because by the standards of elves, they were all so _loud_. Whatever it was about that region that caused the natives to turn into such chatter boxes, she didn't know. What she did know was that both she and her cousins were both irritated and amused, just like most of the inhabitants of Astranaar. Since her aunt and uncle had already turned a corner in the neighborhood anyway, Issinia began to look for a place to avoid the five Stonetalon villagers and the few locals who were inexplicably infected by the desire to talk overly loudly about nothing.

"Corra, quick! There's a bench over between those hedges!" Issinia whispered while pointing toward a spot between two tree buildings housing shops.

Corrianna looked to where Issinia was pointing as if she couldn't hear her, but immediately got the message. Being the fastest, she dashed for the spot, and Issinia felt a mild sense of panic when she noticed two other local teenagers who had also been eyeing the naturally grown wooden bench. Grabbing Elindir II by the shirt sleeve without even asking his permission, she tried her best to follow quickly.

"Come on slowpoke, we need to reserve the bench!" she said while trying to move around a few people standing at a high tent featuring imported incense.

In spite of her urging, Elindir II moved a bit slowly as he tried to avoid bumping in to anybody. Against all rules of elven propriety, people were jostling for position in the makeshift marketplace as if they were a bunch of humans, standing in the middle of the road even when other people needed to move by. But Elindir II refused to sink to such a level, proverbially dragging his feet and trying his best not to bump into anybody.

"Slow down, we'll bump into people!"

When the group of other teenagers casually started to approach, she let go of him and left him to his complaining. Corrianna had sprawled out across the bench like a child, but Issinia worried that another group of people could still theoretically ask her to move over and she'd appear rude by refusing.

"This seat has been reserved!" Issinia chortled as she threw herself over the other half of the bench. Corrianna pulled her legs away just in time, leaving the two of them to awkwardly shift until they were in sitting positions. "Eli, come sit on the grass near the hedges!" she laughed while waving him over.

Once he reached the little grassy area between the hedges, he frowned. "There would be space for all three of us if you moved over..."

To his chagrin, his sister sided up against him. "Yeah but if you sprawl out on the grass, then other people are less likely to also sit here because the apace will look...you know...busy."

"Space can't be busy, only people can," he replied stubbornly while standing next to them.

"She's speaking metaphorically, now come sit!" Issinia replied while tugging on the fabric of his cowl. "Come on, those other people are already hesitating. If you flop down here on the grass they'll totally feel awkward and not sit here!"

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Elindir II relented and sat down in the grass next to them, looking decidedly displeased as he did so. Just then, another wave of people passed by on the road in front of them, creating a bit of a bottleneck as an arakkoa merchant from Outland found himself followed by potential customers for his gemstones before he could even find a place to set up shop.

"Looks like we scoped this place out just in time; this is the busiest I've ever seen it," Corrianna said while the three of them people watched from their little resting area. At one point a group of gnomes even started a second level of traffic by walking in between the legs of taller people, nearly causing a few foot traffic incidents. "This really is amazing, at this rate I can imagine that the market will go way past midnight and probably continue on until dawn."

"That almost reminds me of Ratchet, except the people aren't supposed to be awake at nighttime there, so it seems less normal. Here..." Issinia motioned toward the canopy forming a ceiling above them, as if they were inside of a cavernous room made of leaves and bark. "...here, everything makes sense."

For a few seconds, she and her cousins just sat and people watched, enjoying all the sights and sounds of one of those rare occasions where elves gathered for business. After a few moments, however, Corrianna leaned toward her without actually looking at her. "You know, I liked Ratchet both times we visited you guys. It's different-"

"VERY different," Issinia said.

"-but it's nice in its own way. Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to live among people who never sleep at all."

"They're daywalkers," Issinia said dismissively.

"Are you sure about that? Humans and orcs are daywalkers. Goblins never seem to sleep. When we were at Ratchet, and then the only time I visited Everlook, there were always people on the street twenty four hours a night. It was fun in a way - everybody gets along and there's something for everybody."

Exasperated by her cousin's naïveté about the world, the fifteen year old felt determined to change her mind. "You think that, but that's because you don't live there. When you grow up in a place like this, it's probably easy to take the very basic things for granted - things you don't always directly notice growing up as a child of the stars."

Corrianna finally did turn toward her slightly. "Like what?" she asked suspiciously.

The answer was so obvious that Issinia honestly felt surprised by the question. How could somebody not recognize the inherent superiority of Sentinel society? "You know, the basic things. Things about beliefs and behavior and stuff." Trying to evoke through body language what she couldn't quite explain in words (but felt absolutely convinced of), she tried flipping her hair and acting as if the matter was clear. "I mean...can you imagine what it would be like to actually live around outlanders all the time?" she asked rhetorically.

"Our dads are both outlanders," Corrianna replied dryly.

Reeling at the punch below the belt, Issinia shut her mouth tightly and stared down at the grass. To that, she had no sufficient answer, and the topic was a raw one for her. Embarrassed into silence, she resigned herself to just people watching with her cousins for a while.

She lost track of how many people passed. In her attempt to push the simple yet hard hitting retort out of her mind, she felt a mild buzz of white noise for a period, mitigated only by the fact that her cousins were both quiet people who enjoyed people watching and sitting in silence. Eventually Corrianna even rested her head on Issinia's shoulder, a signal that their minor tiff had passed. If there was one thing to be thankful for when arguing with her occasionally frustrating cousin, it was that Corrianna never rubbed anyone's nose in the dirt.

Her aunt and uncle were obviously tied up talking to friends or something of the sort, because they'd left their bag with Issinia and never came back to look for it. Which was fine by the three young people; the night was still young and none of them were in a rush to elbow their way through the thicker periods of the foot traffic when they could relax and observe.

Their tranquility was interrupted, however, when another group of young people walked by, glanced at them and then began talking to each other as if they wanted to approach. All three of them were outlanders, or at least part; two were obviously blood elves, and judging by the fact that they wore robes in shades of blue and purple, they obviously weren't newcomers to Sentinel territory. Their third companion, however, was quite an odd character. His eyes glowed silver, and his hair bore the same color, though his skin...it was almost a sort of pinkish color, like a high elf. His height implied a night elf, though, and Issinia ventured a guess that he was biracial like her and her cousins.

The other trio approached, taking a step off the road and in between the hedges, which caused the small rest area to feel crowded as well. "Greetings, we were wondering if you could help us? We're a bit lost," said the blood elf girl.

Though Issinia was perplexed by their mixed companion, Corrianna didn't seem to care. "Sure, where to?"

"We're supposed to meet somebody by the northwest gate, but we don't even know how to get out of this market!"

"Yeah, it can be a doozy back here," Corrianna chortled good naturedly. "From here, you need to follow this road and turn left at the second cross. Keep going for four more crosses at the little neighborhood streets and then turn right, and you'll find yourself behind the paper conjuration den."

The blood elf boy's fel green eyes lit up. "Ohh...yeah, from there, the main road is easy to find!"

"Exactly. Take the second left, then the fourth right, and you'll be there."

Just like that, the exchange was over and the three other teens thanked the group profusely. As they started to walk away, the half night elf, half blood elf boy turned and looked at them over his shoulder.

"Light bless you," he said casually.

Issinia's reaction, however, was anything but casual. Without any escalation, she felt her pulse shoot through the roof. A hundred and one questions raced through her mind, and a sense of righteous anger battled with her desire to believe that the young man had made a joke.

Unable to let him go without confirming whether or not he'd truly believed in what he'd said, she waved at him. "What did you just say?" she asked, and she could already feel Corrianna bristle next to her.

As if he knew he'd committed a faux pas, the boy paused momentarily. "I...uh...thanks," he replied nervously.

"No, that's not what you said," Issinia replied. She remained seated so as not to chase him away, but she did feel the urge to accost him. Elindir II suddenly sat up and faced away from the conversation. "Did you just invoke the Light?"

All three of the other teenagers looked uncomfortable, obviously out of their element in perhaps the third biggest night elf city on Azeroth just a few years after they'd declared their independence from the Alliance. Stuck in a hard spot by Issinia's piercing stare, the biracial boy talked while trying to find an exit from the conversation.

"My mom is a blood elf...these are my cousins."

"Hi!" the green eyed girl said nervously, but she received no reply from Issinia.

"And...I'm assuming your father is working on converting her to the faith of Elune?" Issinia asked pointedly, ignoring the way that Corrianna was lightly stepping on her foot underneath the bench.

Both full blood elves began openly glancing around for the easiest route to walk away through, though Issinia's fellow halfbreed appeared to be a mixture of defensiveness and apprehension. "Well, you know...everybody has their own...um...paths in life. So, my dad converted to the Light..."

Inferiority stung Issinia's heart, and she felt a sort of angry heat rising in her cheeks. To think for even one fleeting moment that...a proud night elf man...left...Elune? Embarrassed that her 'side' had 'lost,' she felt a sort of defensive haughtiness take over.

"Did your mom please him so much with her subservience that he was willing to throw his own soul away to marry her?"

"Issa!" Corrianna hissed while trying to move to block her view of the three other teenagers.

"My aunt is a nice lady!" the blood elf boy protested as his sister tried to pull both him and their larger cousin away.

"I hope he...Corra, what are you doing?"

In order to facilitate the flight of the son of an apostate, Corrianna actually stood up and moved directly in front of Issinia. Though she was short compared to Issinia, the older cousin was able to block the view of the other trio quickly moving away, likely afraid that other members of the now independent faction might join in the discussion. Before Issinia could say a word more, the other trio had disappeared.

Corrianna knelt down in front of her. "Issa, why would you say that about somebody's mom!" the twentysomething woman exclaimed.

Indignant confusion and anger bounced back and forth in Issinia's mind between the other teenager, the boy's apostate father whom she didn't even know, and her own cousin. "Wha...me! Corra, that boy is dangerous! If he keeps talking like that, then others amongst the youth might think that it's okay to leave Elune!"

"That's not our business."

"How can you say that!"

"Issa...that boy's father found someone who made him happy. Whatever he chooses in his life is his business. If he found his peace and his own version of the truth-"

"There's only one truth!" Issinia whispered almost angrily.

"-then leave him be. We don't have to agree with his choice, but it's still his choice, whoever he is."

"Even if his choice denies him a place among the stars when he does?" Issinia asked sharply, unable to mask her passive aggressive tone behind the question she'd intended to be rhetorical. "Even if he works to destroy our society?"

"Oh, for the love of...you can't accuse someone of nefarious deeds without evidence, you of all people should have studied that since you're at novice level now!"

"I can't believe some of the errors you believe in, Corra," Issinia huffed, turning her head away (and noticing that Elindir II had snuck away to escape their argument). "You're actually defending this guy whose entire hereafter has been ruined by some Sindorei hussy. Elune doesn't allow this."

A measure of iron embedded itself in Corrianna's expression. As if the normally polite and seven demure half human had flipped her personality momentarily, her black eyebrows arched as if she herself had reason to get mad. "Elune is the mother of peace, the mother of the Kaldorei, and the mother of all truth and justice. And she _doesn't_ allow the insulting of someone's mother...former High Priestess Whisperwind, goddess light her path, Toward a Functional Code of Judicial Honor, chapter thirteen, page fifty three, verse six."

Ice. Like a box of ice, Issinia's heart froze.

People continued walking around the two of them, unaware of the arcane goblin manufactured bomb that had just been dropped directly on Issinia's head from a zeppelin with a picture of Corrianna's face on it. A different kind of best rose in the half troll's cheeks and ears, tinging them an even darker shade of violet blue as she felt as if she'd been stripped naked in front of every single person in the city. She hugged herself, folding into a defensive position as her persona of the knowitall scholar was blasted from here past the end of eternity.

In a bizarre mixture of sternness and gentleness, Corrianna tugged on Issinia's arm until she was able to clasp one of her hands. "Don't think that just because I'm less strict than you, or because I name drop and quote farm less than you, that I'm ignorant of what the Sisterhood teaches. And don't think that just because you've studied that you have the right to say mean things to people."

Awkward and completely off guard, Issinia felt unable to do anything except clasp Corrianna's hand right back despite her feeling of being degraded. "Okay," she mumbled while staring at her own feet.

Corrianna slid back onto the bench next to her and tried to put an arm around her shoulder, which was even more awkward. "Let's go find mom and dad. Come on. Let's just forget this all happened and enjoy the market," she whispered, though with a certain firmness in her voice that reminded Issinia of the fact that Corrianna was still nearly twice her age.

A gnomish light bulb went off in her head, however. She'd been humiliated and shot down by her less conservative cousin, and had lost an opportunity to guide an apostate that had been in her grasp. Unable to find any other way to nurse her wounded pride, she felt the urge to run to her aunt, the oldest and most traditional member of the extended family, and seek validation.

Yes...that was the ticket. Surely aunt Unelia would see at least _some_ merit in Issinia's outrage at a fallen night elf man bringing his Light worshipping son into Astranaar as a form of covert proselytizing.

"You're right...we need to see aunt Uni," Issinia replied as she rose to follow Corrianna through the crowd.


	9. Deer 5

The awkward chase played itself out through the endless darkness of the enchanted forest. Screaming in pain, screaming for help, screaming because the act was all it was capable of, the fawn ran blindly through the night, bereft of any sort of knowledge of its ultimate destination. Unaware of the existence of any sentient beings other than itself and its pursuer, it cried, desperately running without a plan.

There was no plan to be devised; there was no knowledge that allowed it to do so. Lamenting its former lifestyle of sloth that provided it with no challenges, it felt the creeping horror of its own fate: it didn't have any answers. It didn't know what to do. It didn't know where to run. It didn't know how to escape. That horror tore at its mind, showing it images of its own demise as it eventually collapsed from exhaustion and watched as the wolf ripped open its stomach without even the courtesy to end its life first. Too terrified to accept the inevitable, it felt the most ugly, awful truth, the worst form of reality...that its end was nigh, its end was unfair, its end was unacceptable to it, but its end would come whether it felt ready or not.

Just as it began to slow down, the barking of the wolf shifted. Rather than ravenous, the wolf's voice turned into an equally pained, pathetic cry, scaring the fawn even more as it realized its assailant suddenly broke in the same way it had. The fawn's tired legs slowed down when the beat of the lame wolf's paws on the soil stopped. Why wasn't it giving chase any longer?

The arachnid hiss sent a new type of absolute terror up the fawn's torn, bleeding back.

Turning its head slowly, the most hideous thing it had ever seen met its gaze. The wolf twitched on the ground, its limbs thrashing as it found itself pinned by a more able bodied adversary. Eight legs carried a fat body looming over it, and grey fur of a much sharper, less flexible variety covered the new monster that had bested the old. Fangs the size of the wolf's muzzle pierced its throat, entering in two sides and crisscrossing before exiting from the opposite sides. Those fangs released like a pair of shears, allowing a horror far, far worse than the lame wolf to stare blankly at the fawn with eight compound eyes.

The devil it knew was gone, and answering its prayer against the wolf was a savior promising no salvation. Perhaps things weren't so bad the way they were after all...


	10. Huntress 5

With less than a week to spare before the Lunar Festival, Issinia had found the sheer amount of activities around the house to be daunting. Despite the fact that the Swiftfoot household was comprised by only four members - five if Issinia counted herself - there was still a high amount of activity in the lead up to the festivities. In previous years, she'd usually arrived just before the holiday itself and had been spared all the preparations. This year, however, she was in the thick of it.

Since her aunt and uncle were both retired aside from volunteer work, they'd devoted themselves mostly to the community as a whole. How people who also worked full time managed to prepare for the Lunar Festival in a night elf city, Issinia had no idea. As the single biggest holiday that the faction celebrated - furbolgs, dark trolls and immigrant outlanders included - the occasion required a measure of preparation. Druids spent their time growing ferns, nightshade and willow trees at a fast rate for distribution, as the plants were often used in both decorations and meals around that time of year; Issinia herself had once taken the challenge of ingesting heavily watered down nightshade, a feat usually reserved for rowdy huntresses in their lodges.

In addition, public efforts to prepare were also well underway. Banners and streamers were hung by people of all ages, lining all the rope bridges and branch beams that formed the upper, open air levels of the city. Pamphlets were handed out regarding both public and private gatherings, and people rushed to buy ingredients, gifts and new clothes as retailers found they couldn't restock their shelves quickly enough.

Issinia's task, however...well, she couldn't ever have enough of it. Why Unelia had chosen the path of a simple archer, training at the huntress lodge instead of the temple complex, was beyond Issinia. What she was able to participate in under Unelia's tutelage was far more fascinating in her eyes.

One of the favorite activities for Lunar Festival was the hanging of the lanterns. Much like the lampposts conjured along the highways and roads between towns, the lanterns for the Lunar Festival were conjured by priestesses. Drawn from the rocks of the planet, the basic encasing for the lanterns were raised out from the ground using the powers granted by the moon, and then shaped with the arches common to their people. The blue, wisp like light was likewise conjured and wouldn't die out until ordered to, and the chains that suspended the lanterns - if necessary - were also raised from the metals and minerals of the soil. At the end of the holiday, those lanterns were magically dismantled and their natural components returned to the soil from whence they came, melding back into the environment and leaving no trace.

The process was laborious and had to be repeated every year, but that was part of the fun. And as Issinia felt her aunt's watchful eyes observing her work in the practice yard of the temple complex, she felt an upswell of pride.

Despite being very short, Unelia was still the spitting image of Issinia's mother, Cecilia - the two were almost like carbon copies of each other despite the huge height difference. Dark indigo hair was the only difference - despite being younger, Cecilia had already gone grey and dyed azure streaks into her locks. Unelia, however, had retained the family's original color, and her hair was the same shade as Issinia's. Of course, it was of a different texture being purely elven; Issinia's was more of a mane than hair, and like a troll's, it grew all the way down the back of her neck as if specially designed for a mohawk. She shaved the back of her neck, of course, though she couldn't do anything about the texture, and always felt jealous of her aunt. Even Unelia's uneven gait, which had been caused by an old accident and required her to walk with a stick, evoked an aura of old elven wisdom that seemed unspoiled by all the numerous changes that had taken the world across the previous decades.

"Focus...don't think about the walls, don't think about the other trainees, don't think about me," Unelia said, her voice soft like wind chimes. "Focus... _be_ the starlight...make it your hands and shape the stone."

The lantern floated in front of where the both knelt on the grass of the training yard, its shape rough and unrefined. Part of the dirt remained exposed after the stone had risen up from the ground, and grassy soil twirled in the shape of a conical pyramid beneath it. A few rocks and leaves orbited the lantern, like planets in a celestial globe, twirling as the silvery blue light moved around and molded the stone surface of the lantern like clay.

"Oh...I can feel it on my thumb...when I press like this," Issinia chuckled quietly, wiggling her thumb in the air and watching as a thumbprint pushed around a hard lump of stone on the lantern as if it was butter. "It's so weird...I feel my entire palm touching wherever the light runs over the surface of the lantern."

"You'll be able to carry it around like this, given more practice, my niece. It isn't like the arcane magic found among our highborne cousins; you won't be able to move objects like a slothful wizard. Only for the creations of nature...gifts which we only shape, but do not originate ourselves...will you be able to use this ability."

While her aunt talked, Issinia rotated both of her hands until her palms faced the ground. Without even moving her hands upward, she watched as her willpower moved the wispy light upward toward the arched roof of the lantern. A slight pinch weakened one of the curved points of the five corners, and she had to spend a moment smoothing it out again.

"Don't rush," Unelia whispered, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "Even when mortal, nature has granted us plenty of time...spending a little extra from that time is a freedom you've been blessed with."

"Of course, auntie...here...like this?" she asked, seeking approval as she used very slight finger movements to ease the blob of stone that she'd pushed near the tip of the arch back toward the roof itself.

She worked in silence when her aunt only nodded, understanding that she was only meant to work. When her energies were focused on the conjuration, she found herself unable to keep track of time. Focus was necessary, however, and she found herself able to perform a much more thorough job than she'd expected. When she felt she'd finished, however, she grinned and sucked air in between her teeth like all Hearthglen girls did, momentarily breaking her concentration.

"Yikes!" she yelped when the lantern stopped glowing and promptly fell to the ground. Bits of rock and leaves fell alongside it, landing on the conical pyramid of grassy dirt.

Unelia chuckled and waved her hand, willing the soil to become flat and even out again. "Don't worry, those lamps are quite sturdy. And the finish is usually difficult the first time around." Though her dexterity wasn't what it must have been during immortality, Unelia still reached for the lantern first, and pulled it into a standing position. "That's lovely for your first time...the Ancient of Lore near the cemetery asked me for another lantern the other day. Would you mind giving yours to it?"

Issinia's eyes lit up and flew open as wide as saucers. "Mind?! Auntie, there are so few ancients here...their branches are limited! It would truly be an honor! But do...do you really think it wouldn't mind a lantern conjured by a trainee?"

"Of course not, never," Unelia chuckled while leaning on her walking stick to stand back up. Issinia jumped up in a rush, helping her aunt to stand without even being asked. "The Ancient of Lore helps compile the city's local history...if you intend to become the High Priestess one day, then it would likely be honored to look back and say that it allowed you to hang your first lantern from one of its branches."

Blushing at the compliment that seemed almost fanciful, Issinia covered her mouth to laugh while lifting her lantern. "Auntie...now you're teasing me," she chortled.

Unelia tapped her stick on the ground and motioned for them to walk back over toward the trainee's storage hut. "Even the late Tyrande, goddess light her path, was a trainee once, as is the case with the current High Priestess. A new generation will always need to start somewhere...here, just inside," she said while pointing toward a cubby that had a temporary 'Swiftfoot' tag hanging on it to denote that Unelia had reserved the space for a relative.

"Of course, auntie." Once she'd stored her lantern until she felt ready to conjure the elven steel chains to hang it with, she began following her aunt toward the temple clinic. "It just seems so...so far away, and...where are we going now?"

Laughing at the teenager's change in topic, Unelia simply pointed toward the back entrance, amused by what must have seemed impatient to her. "You finished the first phase just in time...I have a regularly scheduled appointment to take a look at Delebria's hip on every Monday. Since you're here, this will be good practice for you."

The shaven hair follicles on the back of Issinia's neck raised. "Oh, um...well, alrighty then," she replied nervously, a number of thoughts floating through her mind.

She knew that her aunt was a volunteer healer at the temple, and large number of people visited regularly since - unlike Ratchet - healthcare was free in all Sentinel lands. Issinia also knew that while she was proficient in the martial aspects of her career - every priestess of the moon was expected to be able to lead a unit of sentinels into battle - her healing skills were subpar for her age. Such practice would likely benefit her, even if the appointment was a simple checkup; her class held the dual role of both smiting enemies and healing allies.

But...the patient was Delebria. Her mother and aunt's long time shield sister, and a woman who...lived with another woman. That was the most polite term Issinia could think of. In spite of her earlier failed debates with Corrianna on the topic, Issinia couldn't help but find Delebria and Niorith's lifestyle bothersome and erroneous. That Delebria even needed healing at all seemed a bit frivolous...although she was also older than biologically possible due to having been born during immortality, the woman was still only half of Unelia's age, and was physically in shape. She was living on disability payments due to a series of injuries that had sidelined her but...did she even need them? Wasn't she just milking the system?"

"Um...auntie?"

"Yes, dear?" Unelia asked as the two of them entered the clinic.

"Are we...does Delebria really need these sessions? I mean, she looks fine, honestly, and physically she doesn't look any older than Corrianna. Why does she come?"

Oblivious to the implication, Unelia only stopped briefly before opening the door to a private room. "Delebria looks young, but she's many millennia old; like myself, she will probably die of old age in a few decades and no more. These sessions are part of what keep her fit despite her injuries." Sweeping aside the oddly sturdy door that was made only of thick vines, she stepped inside. "Now, come. This will be a good lesson for...ishnu alah, Brie!"

Following her aunt inside, Issinia found the dark woman in question sitting cross legged on a little cot. Rare for a night elf, Delebria's skin and hair were the exact same color, a dark lavender hue that fit in so well among the shadows of the Ashenvale Forest. "Uni, I haven't seen you all week," the retired nightblade replied, bowing from the bed without actually rising up.

"I know...it seems that the entire city is busy with the preparations." Unelia laid her walking stick against the wall and pulled up a large cushion to sit on as she faced Delebria. The second cushion she pulled up caused Issinia to grow anxious. "Brie, you remember my niece Issa from two years ago, right?"

Looking at Issinia and then the empty cushion, the woman seemed to send a subconscious order for the trainee priestess to sit, which she did reluctantly. Delebria had an odd habit of sneering when she was happy instead of just smiling like a normal person, or a sort of sneer smile that she might have found to be some sort of a trendy signature expression. Perhaps it seemed endearing to her friends, but it made gauging her true reactions difficult.

"Yes, I remember...greetings, Issa," Delebria said a bit dryly and without her usual zest. "When will your mom arrive?"

"Probably in a week, just toward the last few days of the festival."

"Wonderful, Nior was so busy rounding up the drunks that she didn't have time to see your family last time. This year she negotiated the whole holiday off and had two youngbloods agree to cover for her."

 _I know what you two do_! Issinia found a voice inside of her head hissing. "Lovely, it will be nice to have a miniature reunion of Serenity Grove."

Giving her a congenial nod, Delebria then turned back to Unelia to discuss her medical issues. "I didn't feel any pops or clicks this week, and to be honest that makes me nervous. Usually I can feel something, at least when walking up the ramp to our apartment."

"Don't worry so much; no news is good news. Now, we'll need to check your left hip flexor as a precaution. Would you consent to allowing a trainee to practice her skills by feeling for any disturbances?"

In an act of self control she didn't even know was possible for herself, Issinia prevented her eyes from flying open like saucers large enough for a mountain giant's tea cups. "Sure, I don't mind giving someone else a break at all," Delebria replied...before she started to actually slide her leather breeches down her legs, leaving only her underwear covering her lower half.

If Issinia's heart had thumped any faster, her eyes would have popped out. Her aunt actually wanted her to...touch...Delebria? A woman who laid with another woman? Utter shock smacked her in the face, but before she knew it Delebria had already laid down on the cot, resting her head on the pillow nonchalantly.

Unelia poked Issinia's foot to gain her attention. "So Issa, you'll want to focus merely on what you can feel over your fingertips, like what you did with Eli's wrist the other day. Since you're still practicing, try closing your eyes and actually making contact between the patient's skin and your fingers," she said while pointing toward Delebria's hip with her nose.

"Oh...okay," Issinia replied as casually as she could. Willing her fingers not to tremble as she feared arousing something inside of the woman on the cot, she slowly pressed downward until she could feel Delebria's hip beneath her hand. "Is that too hard?" she asked with her eyes closed.

"Don't worry, young one; you don't live for a few thousand years without toughening up a bit," Delebria chortled.

There wasn't a hint of awkwardness in the woman's voice, though Issinia still felt as stiff as a treant in a Desolace dust storm. Pressing inside with her magic, she tried to 'see' the anatomy of the woman and ignore her own fears of what sort of debauchery probably took place in Delebria's apartment. Contrary to what she'd worried about, the woman's breathing didn't change in rhythm nor did she start to do anything weird when Issinia touched her. It was as if she was...normal. Which didn't make sense in the trainee priestess' mind at all.

"I sense a series of...sheets. One after another...and they're worn out, but there isn't actually any damage," Issinia said, describing what she could 'feel' with her mind.

"Sounds like the vitamins you asked me to take have been paying off," Delebria chortled. The vibration of her light laughter broke Issinia's concentration, and the link was severed.

"Splendid...it would seem that there isn't much to do other than stay the course, then," Unelia replied while leaning back on her cushion. "I have to say, this may have been the shortest consultation I've ever had."

Delebria pulled her breeches back up and thankfully allowed her excessively long shirt (which was Niorith's size, yet another quality that's empt Issinia out of her comfort zone) to fall down toward her knees again as she sat up. "Me too...which I guess is a good thing, then? Thanks so much, Issa."

"Don't mention it," she replied while forcing herself to smile.

"Brie, are you going to be at the tea house later tonight? Your sister told me yesternight that she and her oldest wanted us all to meet up there. Her hubby will take their younger kids for a ride around that time, so it will be just us."

Furrowing her dark lavender eyebrows in mock anger, Delebria's face suddenly matched her sneer, if not her actual humor. "Vadia talks to you more than she does to me! I've seen her only once since she landed. Anyway, I'll be there in a few hours to let her have it...which is good, because I need to go grab a box of some things from Nior at work and drop it off at home about now." The three of them moved to stand, though the seemingly able bodied woman on disability payments put her arm on Issinia's shoulder as if they were...family, or something. "Issa, will you be coming along tonight, too? I'm sure my sister would like to see you again."

"Yeah, well, uh...let me check, I told somebody I'd help them with something around that time," she said, seeking an excuse not to go even though she felt guilty. "But I'll definitely try to come."

Delebria continued to flash her signature sneer, but a bit of the shine faded away. "Good to know," was her only reply before taking Unelia's walking stick and handing it to her. "I'll see you later for sure then, Uni?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Unelia replied with a grin as she followed Delebria outside, Issinia in tow. "Stay safe."

"You too."

The two of them watched the retired nightblade walk down the road toward the exit of the temple complex, her pace a bit slower than all of the attendants passing by. Once she'd returned to the city proper, Issinia felt her pent up frustration read to burst.

"Auntie, have you ever considered speaking to her about her lifestyle?" she asked innocently, trying to broach the topic indirectly.

Leaning on her staff and smiling irreverently, Unelia just continued to watch her former shield sister of some seven thousand years disappear into the dense thicket of inhabited trees just beyond the complex walls. "Hmm? Oh, I don't know, dear. Perhaps Brie doesn't use her time in the most efficient way, but who are we to judge?"

Confused at the roundabout summary, Issinia tried to push her luck a little bit further. "Well, that's one way to put it...but for infractions so serious, maybe she needs a good advising in order to set her straight," the teen suggested.

For a few seconds, Unelia pursed her lips and appeared to be deep in thought. And for those few seconds, Issinia actually got her hopes up.

"Alright, I guess I'll talk to her about her lifestyle, maybe if I can pull her aside from the others tonight."

 _Yes! Because that's how we roll_! Issinia chirped internally, thinking that her aunt had been referring to the same topic as her.

Before she spoke again, Unelia had already started to walk toward the clinic to check for other people in need of medical care. "Honestly though Issa, I don't think her addiction to Hearthstone is all that bad."

Issinia did a double take and nearly fell over as she stumbled after her aunt. "Wha - wha - what?" she asked, absolutely flabbergasted.

"I mean, you seem to balance your playing between that, you the cards, and that other game you kids play with the dice. What's it called."

"Auntie, that's not..." She quickly shut up once they entered the clinic, finding themselves faced with a sentinel with a sprained ankle being helped inside by her shield sisters. "...never mind."

In the slightest of motions, Unelia turned her head toward Issinia, and she could have sworn that she saw a flash of realization flash in her aunt's eyes. "What? Were you referring to something else?" she asked curiously.

Her ship sat at the harbor, the wind pulled right out of its sails and her metaphors completely run dry. All her life, she'd viewed her aunt as the traditional, conservative woman upholding the religious and cultural traditions that her own mother was so lax and liberal about. Unelia was a volunteer healer at the main temple complex in the third largest night elven city on Azeroth, she had lived even before the discovery of arcane magic, she had been present for the inauguration of the current High Priestess, she was a proud, weathered Kaldorei woman. To see her permit a lifestyle that Issinia had come to believe that, based on her own reading, must be improper completely turned her views of her family on their head.

Confused as all hell, she followed her aunt into the clinic and tried to just repress the thoughts and imagine the sort of changes she'd enact of _she_ really did become High Priestess one day. "No, of course not, auntie," she sighed in exasperation.


	11. Deer 6

Shocked beyond all coherent thought, the fawn continued to run. For all of its admittedly short life, the enchanted forest had been a place of solace and solitude. It had been a place of serenity and tranquility, of peace and quiet, of comfort and ease. Never had it imagined that everything it believed about the small little world could have been so wrong.

Little hooves carried it across the grass, propelling it forward at a mockingly slow pace. By all means, it should have been able to escape by then. It should have been gone, escaped and safe from all that threatened it. But so much that should have been was not on that night. On that night, the world that it had once known seemed to end.

Eight spindly legs jabbed holes into the soil behind it. Sensitive ears remained lucid and functional even when so much else didn't. The fawn's legs refused to carry it properly, its instincts refused to guide it well. And yet its ears continued to fill its ears with that sound. That horrible, terrifying sound of an arachnid hiss emitting from book lungs and surrounded by pedipalps filled the fawn's ears, robbing it of any sort of solemn acceptance of the inevitable end that might have been possible to it. Whether having its stomach torn open by a wolf or its blood drained from it by a spider wasn't a thought it could even entertain. The pointless chase was all that existed, and the pain shooting up the fawn's back was far too intense for it even to feel its spine tingle.

Just then, an even worse sound filled its ears. Like a warble that echoed inside of the spider's book lungs, the sound of a congealed liquid churning broke the air, and the eight spindly legs momentarily stopped. Too panicked to look back, the deer continued trying to jump over a low hanging branch, its skinny legs skittering all over the place. It didn't even realize that the stream was approaching it until it was too late.

Smooth like silk, the webbing launched by the spider draped the fawn's left side. One of its ears were pulled back, tugging on its neck uncomfortable as the silky strands proved taut and strong. Both of its hind legs were entangled, tripping it as it literally fell over the low branch and landed painfully on its chest cavity. Struggling to stand, it let out one last pitiful cry before it rose one last time. It couldn't end...not like this. It had to try at least one more time.


	12. Huntress 6

_Seven years ago_.

"Issa, open this door right now!"

Cecilia's voice from the other side of the bathroom door was enough to scare all of the children even when she was speaking calmly. Truthfully, their mother had never spanked any of them; not once. Misses Hearthglen was never physical, and while she did occasionally shout - unlike their father - such occasions were extremely rare, never in front of guests, and only happened in situations where none of the six siblings doubted that they deserved it. No, by all measures, Cecilia had done everything right as a mother...but she couldn't help who she was.

Having a twelve thousand year old retired sentinel as a parent brought with it certain complexes. No matter what any of the children claimed, Cecilia always knew if they were lying or not without even investigating; no matter how long they plotted and planned to avoid eating vegetables or performing chores, she always seemed to expect whatever they were scheming prior to enactment. She'd been everywhere on the continent, had done everything, and had faced horrors that most adventurers only had nightmares about. And yet, despite all that, she was gentle. She was gentle and kind when her children knew that she hadn't been that way for ten millennia.

Her hands had destroyed demons and monsters, yet they were so soft when brushing the girls' hair for them every night after breakfast. Her eyes could spot silithids and harpies up to five miles over the horizon, yet all six of them knew that those eyes ignored most of their mistakes, seeing only the good they did as much as possible. Her ears could hear a twig snap in a dense woodland over the songs of cicadas uphill, yet so often she chose only to hear the good that the children said and pretended not to notice when they complained or whined. That benevolence that endeared her to much to all of her children also made the few moments when she became serious feel all the more terrifying to them.

"Issa, you have until the count of three," Cecilia said from the other side of the door again in an even voice. "Don't make mama worry like this."

The eight year old girl shifted on her stool, looking frantically at the door and then down at the sink full of her blood. Panic rose inside of her when she realized that she'd gone too far.

"I...okay, three seconds, mom!" she replied nervously, spitting up more red as she spoke.

The copper taste in her mouth frightened her; she'd never bled like this previously, not even the time she'd been running through the kitchen while drinking from a cup and slipped and busted her lip. The halfway effective regeneration she'd inherited from her father usually worked far too well - so well that it prevented her from ridding herself of the other part of that inheritance - and she'd always assumed the situation would remain so. That her half regeneration was so slow to aid her this time caused her to worry as much as her mother.

"Issa, I'm coming inside; this isn't a game," Cecilia said as the doorknob began to jiggle. Their mother always knew how to pick locks without a pick; none of them knew how she did it, but she'd saved them more than once from accidentally locking themselves in bathrooms or closets.

This time wasn't an accident, however. Pushing to finish the job, Issinia reached up and pushed on her tender cheeks one last time. The pain was throbbing, but she'd already come this far, and her previous efforts hadn't succeeded. If she really wanted this to be the last time, then she'd need to make it count; as her mother said, this wasn't a game.

"Owww..." she whimpered as she slid the inside of her cheeks over her ugly, ugly tusks one more time, grinding into the profusely bleeding cuts and causing her to cry even more.

The door handle jiggled and popped open, sending a wave of panic coursing through Issinia's veins. The entirety of the sink was stained red, as was her mouth and part of her palms. On the previous occasion, her mother had shamed her beyond belief; though usually indirect, the disapproval Cecilia could invoke was soul crushing, much like what Issinia observed in her summertime friends whenever they visited Ashenvale. No mother could pile on the guilt like a night elf mother.

She felt it the moment Cecilia stepped inside the bathroom.

"Issa!" her mother gasped. "Issa, what did you do!"

It was the first time in her entire eight year life that she'd ever heard her mother lose her composure, and it terrified her far more than the disapproval. Immediately, more tears fell, and she found herself panicking as her mother grabbed a hand towel to shove inside of her mouth.

"I didn't, mama, I didn't do it!" Issinia sobbed, her guilt at upsetting her mother for the first time overpowering her guilt over the lie. "I told you, my tusks are impacted! They don't fit my face argh gaffle gurgle..."

Her voice was muffled as her mother tried to soak up the blood with the hand towel. The pressure applied stung the insides of her cheeks even more, and the damp heaviness she felt in the cloth made her worry that she really had gone too far this time.

That sternness and stoicism they'd always seen in their mother were qualities earned across ten millennia of military servitude to nature. Such qualities weren't easily negated, and when a sense of panic rose in her mother's voice, Issinia really started to wail.

"Khujand, come! Issa cut her cheeks again, she's lost a lot of blood!"

Despite the relative evenness of her mother's tone, obviously gained from the need to objectively tend to wounded comrades on the battlefield, Cecilia's demeanor was what scared Issinia greatly. The pressure that the ancient elf applied to the cheek wounds was high, like the pressure one would apply to a battlefield wound, and the tightness with which Cecilia clutched the back of Issinia's dress added a sense of desperation that frightened her beyond all belief.

Per the usual, her father possessed less self control than her mother. Issinia could already hear the big jungle troll's heavy footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and she braced herself for the inevitable expression of pain on Khujand's face. As a general rule, neither of her parents preferred that her father employ his healing magic when the children were hurt. To recover from injury naturally through rest and a good diet was always better for long term health, and her father's sloppy chain heal spell was only employed in an emergency. And upon hearing her father approach from the hallway, Issinia realized that her efforts to rid herself of her ugliness had reached the level of an emergency.

One week later, Issinia laid on the bed of the inn room she, her mother and her godmother had rented in Orgrimmar. Irien had gone downstairs to buy more fresh water, venturing out into the sun in the diurnal city so the nocturnal trio could drink before going to sleep. Around the time that Issinia had been born, her parents told her that political and racial tensions were so bad that for her mother and godmother to venture directly into the Horde capitol would have been extremely difficult. In their stay, however, Issinia had only noticed a few uncomfortable stares from the few blood elves who had chosen to remain with the Horde. Otherwise, it had been a smooth trip.

At least, smooth in terms of the relations with the locals. The emergency medical procedure had caused many an awkward silence between her and her mother, and only her godmother had been able to salvage the few relaxed moments of the trip. Arranging the procedure had proven surprisingly easy in short notice, but only because they didn't waste time. In Ratchet, there weren't enough members of the Darkspear tribe to find anybody specializing in tusk removal, and the family didn't know anybody in the Echo Isles, which were much closer to the city. Although Orgrimmar was twice as far by boat as the Echo Isles, the family's attorney lived there, and he had easily found an orc shaman whose specialty was the removal of tusks and horns for medical reasons.

That the woman had smiled awkwardly upon first examining Issinia made the eight year old girl feel even more embarrassed. Though the shaman didn't make any comments, they way she'd asked Cecilia if the family was absolutely sure was telling, and made the young girl feel as if her dishonest attempts had been exposed.

Now alone with her mother for at least a few minutes, she rolled over in the bed, looking up at Cecilia. Her mother had her eyes closed but wasn't asleep, a frown plastered on her face. The amount of guilt that filled Issinia simply from looking at that frown was painful. Seeking a way to excuse her actions, her eight year old mind desperately tried to think of anything to say that could justify what she'd done.

"Mama, you know...you know how miss Anjula and mister Melas' son, you know how he's half and half, too?" she asked rhetorically, clinging to the similarly biracial son of her parents' business partners. "And he actually had his tusks removed when he was only five years old, because his skull has an elven shape and can't hold tusks. That's like me, right?"

Cecilia didn't answer. She just continued sitting up in the bed, her back propped against the wall as she rested and waited for Irien to return with the water.

"And...and...you know, Shari was born without tusks at all, and Thanil doesn't have tusks because she's adopted," she continued, referring to both of her sisters. "So it makes sense that I don't have tusks anyway because tusks are for boys."

Her face was still a bit numb from the shaman's magic, though she knew that she'd be in a world of pain once the effect wore off. If she didn't convince her mother before then, then she worried that she might be exposed. Putting her in a permanent state of fear, that thought terrified her as much as many others, and Issinia couldn't find the ability to sit still and be comfortable, even when she felt so tired.

Finally, Cecilia took a deep breath. Even though she didn't open her eyes, Issinia knew that she had been listening intently.

"Issa...you know what you did."

Her heart froze. Never had her mother been this direct with her, ever. In fact, Cecilia wasn't that direct with any of the children except Issinia's older brother, and he had behavioral problems. The bluntness of her mother's words stunned her into silence.

"Your tusks weren't impacted, and your cranial structure isn't a problem. You planned this for months; you pushed and you pushed, intentionally hurting yourself because you thought that you could get what you wanted. And you did; your father was so hurt that he's the one who pushed us to take you here."

Tears already began to well up in Issinia's eyes. Even without aggression, her mother's words hurt her so much, and she found herself in agony, only wanting Cecilia to be happy with her again.

"Mama, it's not fair! Why was Shari born without tusks? Why can't I just look like a normal night elf?"

"Because you _aren't_ a night elf, Issa."

Once again, she froze; her mother's words felt like a slap across the face, an affront to the world Issinia had tried to build up for herself. More tears fell, and her mouth opened and closed silently as she found herself unable to retort.

"Issa...you are a beautiful girl with a rich heritage on both sides. My people have their traditions, but so do your dad's, and in fact his people's civilization is even older than mine's. You're a product of both worlds, you can be proud of both worlds, but you can't deny one and pretend you're just the other. Your dad feels..."

Cecilia stopped herself in mid sentence. The entire conversation was bizarre; a person who was twelve thousand years old had no reason to pause or hesitate, and the uncertainty was infectious.

"What...what's wrong with dad, mama?" Issinia wept, already sensing what her mother meant. "I love daddy so much!"

Letting along, drawn out sigh escape from her nose, Cecilia rolled over and slid downward to rest her head on the pillow next to Issinia. "Go to sleep, Issa," she said, cutting her daughter off for the first time.

For a few seconds, she just watched her mother, silently begging for the woman to open her eyes. But the sense of shame roiled off of her, pushing Issinia into a similar laying position as she let her numb cheek press against her pillow.

Did her father...did he think she wasn't proud of him? Or to be his daughter?

Had she really done that with her actions? Because she had her tusks removed?

Issinia closed her eyes as well, praying that Irien would return to the room and just give them water so they could all sleep. Hopefully the woman would feel the tension in the room and not stoke the flames, leaving them all to sleep. And maybe if Issinia could just sleep it off, she'd wake up and it was all a dream, as was her appearance, and she'd just wake up to a world where she'd never been born with tusks to begin with.


	13. Deer 7

The fawn's chest throbbed as its skinny legs struggled to prop it up, pain shooting through its body every time it breathed. The webbing continued to pull back on its ear, practically tearing the skin as the silk strands proved to be as durable as a taproot. The webbing around its hind legs proved to be less taut, and the looseness allowed it to at least stumble forward.

Another arachnid hiss shook its pounding heart, giving the little animal absolutely no respite from the night of sheer terror. All its life it hadn't experienced anything like this, and on the first occasion when it tasted fear and hate, that taste was extreme and intense beyond description. At the very last second, it wrenched on the muscles of its rump so harshly that they both cramped, and it launched itself through the underbrush to escape the rush of air.

The spider landed right where it had previously been slumped in the grass, sinking its fangs into the soil at its death blow missed. Making another fatal error, the fawn turned around once more in order to inspect its assailant, bleating for mercy that would never, ever be granted. That single glance gripped its soul and dragged out the horror, granting the fawn nothing but a blank, expressionless stare from eight cold, unfeeling compound eyes. The stiff fur bristled as the spider flexed its mandibles and pulled its fangs out of the ground, briefly brushing the dirt off with its pedipalps.

Those few seconds allowed the wounded fawn to search for another escape route. It was bleeding, it was tired, it was light headed, it was cramped, it was webbed, it was hobbled. The spider wasn't as fast as the wolf, but the fawn wasn't as fast as it should be due to its situation. Spying a steep embankment, the fawn dove, sacrificing its own wellbeing in order to protect its very life.

It hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of itself as it tumbled hooves over head. Rocks and roots bludgeoned it, creating bruises and more cuts as it lost all sense of balance and felt nauseous. The fall injured it even further, and the fawn realized that hurting itself in order to escape the spider came with a price. Rolling into the mud at the bottom of the hill, it found itself surrounded by more bushes, the tall trees overhead blocking out all the starlight. The spider hissed at the top of the hill, creeping after it relentlessly as the prey found its pursuer as ravenous as the wolf had been. Limping to a standing position, the fawn sniffled and pushed itself forward, at least feeling energized by the temporary - if false - escape.


	14. Huntress 7

If there was one person Issinia felt she could count on, it was her uncle Johan.

Perhaps the most unique member of the family of snowflakes, he was the only human in their entire extended clan. Having been born across the ocean in a place called Westfall, he'd traveled to Kalimdor to fight in the Third War and had ended up staying behind in Ashenvale after the Battle of Mount Hyjal. At the time, the night elves had still been independent as they were now, as they had been for ten millennia; relations were poor after they'd sacked fortresses not only of the Horde but also the Alliance in the prelude to Hyjal, and by staying behind in Ashenvale, Johan had essentially cut off from his roots in order to become a pilgrim in Kaldorei territory.

Living alone in the forest, he roamed under the watchful eye of local night elves from a now abandoned village known as Serenity Grove. Unelia had shadowed him before establishing contact, and essentially converted him to their faith. One thing led to another and their union made her supposedly the first night elf to marry outside of the race, ever. His story fascinated many a huntress and druid, especially those from the older generations who had lived for so long without meeting any outlanders. In fact, it was usually the first thing he was asked whenever he met new people or traveled to cities that the family hadn't visited before: everybody noticed the quiet human wearing a sentinel tabard and speaking Darnassian fluently, and wanted to ask 'how.'

For Issinia, her uncle was a source of pride even though he didn't talk much and she knew little of him other than the fact that he was so patient that she often forgot about his racial background and regarded him as a blonde child of the stars. His life choice functioned as a sort of validation of her beliefs, a living proof that the religion of Elune was the only true path and that people who believed otherwise - such as that awful nelf belf hybrid whose father was an apostate - were mistaken. Though she hadn't needed to yet, she'd always felt that in a time of crisis, she could turn to him for guidance. And for the fifteen year old trainee priestess, the last few days before the Lunar Festival that year comprised that time.

After a creative plan that resulted in her cousins engaging in a furious dice competition which she'd initiated and then pulled out of, Issinia had convinced her uncle to take her for a walk through the woods due north of the moat. Her aunt was at the temple, thus leaving nobody left except for Issinia, Johan and Upin and Ipin, the family's faerie dragons. The quartet walked out through the southeastern gate and went down a local road, taking their time as they went in their hike. The area wasn't as quiet as it had once been; the night elf baby boom after the end of immortality had resulted in a high amout of young people, and the oldest of that generation were Corrianna's age. All up and down that road, numerous homes for common herbalists as well as those simply living off the land passed by, decreasing in frequency as the four of them moved further and further away from the city proper. A beaten trail led them toward Silviel's Watch, a former outlander post transformed into a series of public gardens and orchards. Although there were a few other people strolling through, the place was quiet enough for Issinia to feel comfortable talking to her uncle on topics she wouldn't want other people to hear.

A few treants wandered around them as they walked among rows of apple trees that actually bent their branches down in order to offer food to visitors. The ever present guardians weren't sentient, and the two faerie dragons understood Darnassian but couldn't speak; thus, Issinia felt as if she and her uncle were finally away from prying ears.

"It's amazing what they transformed this place into, you know, once it was retaken," she said, trying to start indirectly. "I heard it was burned to the ground about twenty years ago."

Her uncle didn't reply until he was finished with the piece of apple he'd bitten off. "It was bad, back when it happened. At that time, the Horde was ruled by an awful dictator that pushed for world war. He ordered his troops to infiltrate these forests and set up posts for staging attacks on Maestra's Citadel and Astranaar, and burned this entire area so they could build their mechanical assault contraptions." He paused to take another bite, leaving her hanging as the miniature history lesson was truncated.

Smiling as if he'd planned it that way for effect, he finished chewing and continued watching the wisps dance near the canopy. "But most of us never despaired...nature always wins," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Even such short stories seemed more interesting whenever he told them, and she found herself in awe from a monologue that had lasted less than one minute. "Nature always...yes, you know, in Ratchet, they pave the streets with cement, right? And they always complain because seedlings break through the cracks and start to grow, like it's a bad thing. Sometimes I try to pluck them out without damaging the roots in order to save them. But if I can't save them then I know that more will always come."

She bounced on her toes as if to punctuate her point that no stupid outlanders would ever stop her from salvaging what she could in the suburban wasteland that was her home on the western bluffs of Ratchet. Johan chuckled deeply in his throat and continued eating his apple, barely even noticing when a mountain giant casually passed by as if it was normal for a titanic slab of stone with eyes to be chilling in a botanical garden with some dryads. When her uncle appeared content to just walk without talking, she tried to speak more directly.

"Uncle, did people try to just pave over nature where you came from? Like how the orcs and goblins do?"

When he took his time finishing his apple, she began to worry that he hadn't heard her, or had dismissed the question. Thankfully, the faerie dragons distracted them by landing on the ground and engaging in a playful shoving match, granting her uncle time enough to finish his food without any lingering periods of silence.

"Well, Issa, it's difficult to generalize about entire races like that. The orcs, as you know, believe in shamanism...many of them were pivotal in the Horde's unilateral withdrawal from Warsong Gulch and the Warsong Lumber Camp."

Though Issinia was surprised again, it was a different sort of surprise from the one her aunt had given her a few days before. She lived and grew up in the Barrens, and she'd visited the Crossroads enough times to be familiar with shamans. Regardless, she found them to be the exception and not the norm, and her heart couldn't settle easily with such an answer.

"Yeah, but uncle, how much influence do they have in the Horde?" she asked, remembering a set of questions that nobody had ever answered for her. "I mean, now that we're independent and negotiating for the return of Stonetalon to us - and goddess willing, we will receive it - there doesn't seem to be a push anymore."

Folding his arms behind him as they walked, her uncle just smiled and hummed deep in his throat. "Do the tauren not have a history in that region dating to the Sundering?" he asked rhetorically.

Issinia opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped herself when she remembered her history lessons. "Oh, uh...yeah...I guess they do," she replied. "But...why does the Horde cut down trees if the tauren are members."

"It isn't just the Horde; all people except the Sentinels cut down trees." He paused and appeared to be considering his words for a moment. "Well, the arakkoa in Outland appear to live in trees like we do. But that's another planet...on our planet, the other peoples don't have the connection to nature that our faction does; the wisps don't respond to them the way they did to me when I first entered Ashenvale. They can detect whether a person truly seeks to live as a part of nature or on the back of it."

"So you're also saying, then, that the people where you originally came from are more or less the same as the Horde?"

"Yes, the Alliance and Horde are two sides of the same..." He paused in order to allow a huntress and a group of trainees to all ride by on sabres and disappear into the gardens before continuing. "They're two sides of the same coin, but that's in the sense that they're products of their own environments. If somebody is raised without priestesses to guide them or druids to teach them, then they really are excused by their own lack of knowledge. Because if there's one undercurrent in the teachings of Elune, it's that knowledge is its own goal."

"Absolutely! And you know, I was reading the other day at the temple complex, and I found..." This time it was Issinia who paused. Normally she'd launch into a monologue about the latest passage she'd read on her own, and her uncle wasn't the sort to interrupt her. Perhaps that was why she interrupted herself, realizing that she was getting off topic. "Well anyway, information is so important. And I guess that the other peoples don't have access to that information?"

"That's my theory. They aren't bad people; I don't believe that anybody properly defined as people can be born bad."

Driving closer to the central topic, Issinia grinned as she spoke. "Of course! They just need to be told the good news, is all. But how can we tell the world? You converted; how can we convert others to the faith of Elune?"

She waited with baited breath, hoping that her uncle would tell her something incredible, some important piece of wisdom that she'd been heretofore missing completely. Even if nobody else had been able to tell her, her good old uncle had to; he was originally an outsider who'd joined their people, who'd made a conscious decision to change. Surely there would be some great insight he could provide that would validate her shaken beliefs.

The two of them continued walking slowly through the dense rows of smaller trees, forming a second canopy below the higher one above. Deep in thought, he took his time before tilting his head up to look level in front of them and speak.

"We can't."

There was a good amount of time where the two of them continued walking. Though her smile didn't fade from her face, she continued trying to search for a hidden meaning in the two words he'd uttered. Maybe there was a catch in the cadence of his speech or the tilt of his head, or maybe there had been some sort of visual cue in his body language that had escaped her. A number of possibilities bounced around inside of her head, all of them pointing in the direction of her having completely and totally misunderstood the implication of his words.

"So...we can't, as in, we need to witness to them less directly in order to convince them to switch over?" she asked, her mind struggling to grasp his words.

Never once wavering in his subtle smile or his soft tone, her uncle shook his head and spoke a bit more directly than was usual for him. "As in, there are too many people in the world for us to simply send them translated books and then watch them all willingly change their entire religion; there are individuals, such as myself, who will consciously decide to change, but we will always be very few. But the only way that people convert en masse, historically speaking, is by force - such as what we see with the Burning Legion or the Twilight Hammer."

Issinia's ears drooped, a sense of finality ringing in them at the words from the one person in the family she always considered her last resort but also her most stable pillar of support. "You mean...there's no hoe for the masses, then?" she asked, disappointment tainting her tone of voice.

"Well, Issa, that all depends on perspective. We believe that we're on the correct path, but if other people don't follow us on it, then that's life. And in fact, I don't think there's necessarily anything wrong with people believing in different religions."

"But...but...if we're on the true path, then how can we allow people to follow other ones!" she exclaimed. That such a statement came from her pillar of support was a shock; had it come from her cousins, she could have dismissed it as simple ignorance or taking their rich heritage for granted. But coming from a true believer who'd left everything he'd ever known for his choice, it was a shock.

Yet her uncle never flinched or appeared the least bit unsure of his words, nor was there any sort of catch or nuance, as she finally realized. "She moves in mysterious ways...whom we call Elune, the tauren call the Earthmother. Orcs revere the elements, which are the components of nature; it all goes back to the goddess. Trolls and the Alliance all follow either loa or the Light, both of which involve the continuation of the souls of the fallen. That isn't exactly what we believe, but Elune still teaches us that the fallen join the stars; so those people revere their ancestors, in a way, which is at least partially correct according to our beliefs.

"And I'm sure that they're raised to believe that their religion is correct...that's how all people are. It doesn't mean that we're better than them or that they're bad people...they're just different. And as much as we hope they decide that Elune shines on the correct path, we must learn to accept the fact that the majority of them won't."

The two of them continued walking for a few minutes, thankfully in silence. Her uncle Johan was never the type to push a point, and she had plenty of time to let his words sink in. Aside from the antics of Upin and Ipin, there was very little to distract her as they walked among the trees and the ponds. After a few minutes, she ceased her indirect approach.

"Uncle...I feel so conflicted. If our way isn't the only way, then...then what do I believe in? If we aren't able to spread this faith to the world...I don't...do we just keep it to ourselves?"

"If somebody asks you, if there's a socially appropriate opportunity to talk about the beauty you've found, then by all means, witness to the world about it," he replied, needing no time to consider his response. "There's nothing wrong with sharing what you believe in. But understand that, first and foremost, you believe in it for yourself: you want to become a better person, to improve yourself, to do good things. This is about your relationship with the goddess, and everything else is secondary."

"The goddess..." Issinia murmured, almost feeling a little bit embarrassed. "Oh, uncle...I feel rather silly."

"Don't ever feel silly for the decisions you make on life's journey. Especially while young. It's your right to find yourself, and to feel uncertain about the bigger questions in the universe." He reached up and patted her on the head, which caused her to laugh due to the fact that he had to reach so far. "Everybody feels confused at times, and there's nothing wrong with that. Just focus on feeling comfortable with your own place in the balance of nature, and be patient...sometimes divine inspiration comes at unexpected times."

Still feeling a bit embarrassed but certainly happier after the discussion, she only nodded and tried to enjoy the rest of their night out. "Thanks, uncle...I think I have a bit of reflection to do," she sighed, slowing down her pace when they passed a fountain of enchanted water near the center of the gardens.

"This is the best place for it; why don't you spend some time here while I go for some apples."

She glanced over at the fountain and stopped entirely, understanding that he was giving her space. "Alright, I'll be right here," she said while slowly walking over to the stony edge.

He left her along with the faerie dragons, taking his time as he brought some more food. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Issinia looked at the image of herself shimmering on the surface, her face distorted due to the mild disturbance caused by wisps floating over the water. She wondered if that was how she'd come off to people, whether it be her cousins or Delebria. Had she been worrying about what other people were doing the whole time since she'd started her training? Had it all been a ruse in order to distract from her own developmental issues?

"Elune, guide me," she quietly asked while running her fingers over the surface of the fountain.


	15. Deer 8

Brambles scratched and pebbles chipped as the fawn shut its eyes tight and ran headlong into the underbrush. Rough leaves and sticks scraped its muzzle and face, forcing it to keep its eyes closed as it tried to lose the spider via difficult terrain. Tumbling and stumbling, it banged into a tree with its shoulder, jarring its entire frail body as it ricocheted off of the trunk and fell in a mud patch.

Finally able to open its eyes, the fawn found itself in one of the darkest parts of the woods. Aside from the spindly legs of the spider piercing the soil, there wasn't a sound to be heard, nor was there a star to be seen. By some cruel twist of fate, the fawn had wandered into the furthest reaches from safety, lost and hopeless as it swung its head all around. There were no escape routes, no hiding spots, no possible solutions to its quandary.

Hissing in anger at having been forced to give chase, the spider tracked the fawn into the barren clearing, treading carefully over the mud pit as it walked onto sparse grass and packed soil. Far too early, far too easily, the fawn had been discovered, its flight over. Cornered and trapped, the fawn felt its heart suddenly beat evenly.

There was nothing it could do. After trying every ploy, every tactic, every mechanism for defense and escape that it knew of, it found that there simply wasn't any way for it to run from the inevitable anymore. Acquiescing to what it couldn't avoid, the fawn gave up. Despite its desperate attempts to flee, its slowed heart finally accepted the reality.

Merciless and driven, the spider started to close in. Its disgusting mandibles flexed as it began salivating, creeping toward the fawn and no longer concerned with its own surroundings. Those eight shiny, compound eyes honed in on the innocent brown orbs of the little deer, staring the whole time and refusing to break away.

But the spider stopped creeping. Slowly but surely, its legs curled up beneath it, leaving it to slump awkwardly toward the ground as it fell lifeless. Confused but too exhausted to think, the fawn looked up to notice a single arrow pierced through the spider's head, having been shot so swiftly and skillfully that it had entered the carapace without a sound. Two glowing silver eyes shone just beyond the hedges, peering at the wounded creature collapsed and helpless in the clearing.


	16. Huntress 8

Issinia snapped her fingers a few times, trying her best to ignite the miniaturized version of her starfall spell without time spent channeling. Under pressure, it took her a few tries, and the other young people were already lighting up the sky with their own fireworks. By the time she'd ignited a single spark of fiery starlight shining through the canopy to where she was holding her hand, her cousin had started to glance up at her.

"Are you ready, yet?" Elindir II asked just as Issinia conjured the beam of starlight at the end of the wick.

"Eli, let go!" she shouted while dragging him away from the fireworks launcher he'd been setting up.

Just in time, she pulled him over toward Corrianna, who had been standing near the street lining the grassy area used for celebrations. The fireworks ignited and soared into the sky, joining the other explosions of sparks that had been set off by other revelers, mostly young people. For reasons relating to safety, the sentries had requested that the usual fireworks be set off outside of the city limits, and numerous small gatherings took place just beyond the moat lining Astranaar. Although the festivities had begun just before dusk, they were still going strong even around midnight. What appeared to be half the city's population had gathered outside to celebrate, forming relatively subdued crowds that were interspersed with the occasional fire warden.

Issinia joined Elindir II next to Corrianna to watch the group of youths next to them set off a round of sputtering firecrackers that flashed in various colors, taking a break from the hot and noisy activity. The celebration for Lunar Festival was still far more demure than anything she was used to seeing back in Ratchet, even in an area near the moat that was occupied mostly by teenagers and twenty somethings. For the trainee priestess, it was a breath of fresh air and part of the reason why she enjoyed spending the season there so much. Of course, she wished the rest of her family had managed to arrive by the first night, but there would still be time; due to the effects of commercialization, Lunar Festival would continue to be celebrated for at least five days anyway, at least unofficially.

"It's my turn!" Corrianna chirped while running past Issinia, snatching up a few more firecrackers and setting them on the launcher.

Like a grownup child, she snickered to herself while loading far too many fireworks on the launcher, refusing to accept help from anybody else. "Corra, you're going to lose our launcher!" her brother cried.

In another display of pleasantly shocking immaturity, Corrianna just ignored him and grinned at Issinia. "Tremble before my power! Light the wick!" she bellowed, not at all appearing her age to the fifteen year old Issinia.

Casting another miniaturized starfall spell, Issinia ignited the wick, setting it ablaze as far too many tubes filled with gunpowder were lit at once. A loud pop echoed in their grassy patch, attracting the attention of two sentries and about two dozen other Kaldorei youths, earning the trio a huge amount of respect (except from the sentries and a rapidly approaching fire warden with her furbolg assistant) as an explosion of color welled up like a toadstool and floated into the sky at a bizarrely slow pace for fireworks.

The fire warden, one of several regular wardens temporarily recalled from the local jail to officiate the festivities, was visibly displeased. "Come on now, you know that you stacked way too many of those things on there," the older woman said to them in a firm voice that was a bit lighter than a scolding.

"It was me, I'm sorry," Corrianna said while raising her hand. "I just tried it once, we're actually almost done with all of our fireworks."

The fire warden glanced down at the nearly empty box with a picture of night elves on it but a 'made in Everlook' sticker on the back. "See to it that you follow safety regulations and you can continue as long as you like," the woman said, obviously fighting off the faint hint of a smile in her attempt to maintain professional composure.

As she turned to inspect another site full of teenagers, her fat, furry furbolg assistant gave the trio a sad look. "Only you can prevent forest fires," the bear man said in fluent though heavily accented Darnassian before following the fire warden.

All three of them waited for the furbolg to waddle away before they broke out into a fit of suppressed laughter, nearly falling over themselves. "This is wrong, he's just trying to help the fire warden," Issinia chortled, unable to control herself.

"It's not our fault that her assistant is unintentionally hilarious," Corrianna chortled right back.

Their laughter was disrupted by a chorus of more fireworks, and a number of youth groups had capitalized on the fire warden's distracted attention to launch more fireworks at one time than had been sanctioned. Knowing a good time to beat a hasty retreat, Issinia handed the remainder of her fireworks to a random kid with a Darkshore accent and beckoned her cousins to follow.

"Come on, we don't need another ultra stern warning like that one," she chortled again over the din of colorful explosions in the sky. "Auntie and uncle should still be distributing free hymn pamphlets closer to where all the old people are hanging out."

"They prefer to be called the mature crowd," Corrianna replied while hurrying to catch up with her. Elindir II trailed behind, distracted by the scene of teenagers scattering when they saw the fire warden glare in their direction.

The three of them noticed a few Shadowtooth tribeswomen, members of the dark troll tribe that had sworn allegiance to the Sentinels for a very long time, walking in the same direction as they were. Strategically stepping in front of the tall, dark purple primordial cousins of the Kaldorei, Issinia, Corrianna and Elindir II were able to conceal themselves from the irate sentries back on the grassy patch as they strolled.

"Oh, look at you, suddenly the one so concerned about speaking properly!" Issinia said with a little hoot.

"Look at you suddenly loosening up and not worrying so much about being proper and exact in everything you say!" Corrianna shot right back while poking her in the ribs.

Issinia put her arm around her cousin's shoulder and pulled her close, yet another display of affection most definitely out of the norm for Sentinel society. Corrianna looked up at her curiously, almost confused by the sudden change in demeanor. "Everybody is allowed to loosen up every once in a while," she laughed while unsuccessfully trying to give her shorter cousin a noogie.

The two of them pushed back and forth until they could see a gathering of older people greeting weary travelers arriving at Astranaar for the festivities. Just beyond the northwestern bridge, the usual retinue of sentries had been replaced by a larger number of revelers, many of them seated though handfuls of them were standing and even offering food and drink to people from other towns and villages who were arriving. Lunar Festival was a time when both the roads on the ground and the air in the skies were crowded with sabres and hippogriffs traveling in both directions. Urbanites returned to their ancestral groves and villagers visited relatives in cities as everyone tried to reconnect with family members, still a significant bond even after the changes foisted upon them by the world. In the mess of people walking this way and that, Issinia lost sight of the three tribeswomen they'd been hiding in front of, but the crowd of people congregating on that side of the moat provided more than enough cover as they pretended like they hadn't been involved in firework related infractions.

Standing off to the side, on the opposite edge of the main northwestern road, was the local ancient of lore, Issinia's first starlit lantern hanging from one of its branches. A group of adults were standing beneath it, sharing candy and taking turns singing out of key from a pamphlet of holiday hymns. Unelia and Johan were both there, standing among a group of other happy night elf couples (oddly enough, Johan didn't look the least bit out of place) that were much more benign in their versions of celebration. All of them looked so happy, relaxing and not worrying about the world and all the problems and bigger questions that it held. Another wave of fireworks exploded in the sky, all of them only on the southern edge of the moat due to the heavy hippogriff traffic in the sky over the north. Music echoed from inside of the city proper, and Issinia laughed out loud as she saw a huntress, still in her armor and risking a serious reprimand if she was seen, dancing with a young man in a circle of her trainees. Even the treants appeared more active than usual as the very balance itself participated in the first of several nights to be spent in remembrance of the fallen.

"Mom and dad still have some candy left, let's go!" Elindir II exclaimed while suddenly breaking forward from his cousin and sister. Corrianna was fast on his heels, both of them reverting into the same behavior Issinia had observed from them on holidays all her life.

"I'll catch up with you guys!" she called after them as they lost her in the crowd.

Lingering for a moment, she glanced around, attempting to find familiar faces. Vadia, one of the original inhabitants of the ancestral grove from whence Issinia's mother and aunt descended, had joined the group alongside her husband to sing and joke beneath the ancient of lore. A number of locals of which Issinia had varying levels of familiarity were there, relaxed to the point where their usual night elven situational awareness waned and a few people even shared pieces of cheese that inexplicably had alcohol mixed into them.

Across them all were the people Issinia was looking for. Standing off to the side near a banner for the city council stood Delebria and Niorith, pleasant enough though obviously hanging back from the crowd a bit uncomfortably. In an odd personality quirk that Issinia's mother had once described to her, Niorith was quite commanding in her role as a police officer inside of the city; off duty, however, she was a surprisingly shy and meek woman slightly afraid of large crowds of people. As if the duality couldn't be even more peculiar, Delebria, who was a whole head shorter, was outgoing and the leader in the relationship, often speaking for Niorith in public. The two of them talked quietly, admiring the celebration without actually approaching the crowd.

Feeling contrite, Issinia carefully walked among the crowd, making her way over to the two originals. That Delebria's sister Vadia had joined the group but she herself hadn't seemed rather odd to Issinia, and when Niorith saw the teenager approaching and clammed up, Issinia knew that something was amiss. On duty, Niorith feared nothing; off duty, she was socially awkward; but the way she shut her mouth tightly and practically hid behind Delebria filled Issinia with a form of guilt she couldn't quite explain.

Delebria turned as if sensing Issinia was there, and instead of greeting her with that trademark sneer, merely shot the teen a blank, expressionless glance as she stood in front of the suddenly pensive off duty cop like an elven shield.

Issinia stood in front of them, a small amount of dismay pricking at her conscience. Though Corrianna never would have talked about Issinia's reaction or gossiping, the local girl wouldn't need to; Issinia had felt back during Delebria's medical checkup that the situation was awry. Had her contempt for the female couple been that obvious? Had she really treated Delebria so poorly that the woman could tell what Issinia had been thinking of her?

"Ishnu alah Brie, Nior. Happy Lunar Festival!" she beamed as positively as possible.

Though Niorith glanced over the top of her partner's head curiously, and perhaps a little bit hopefully, Delebria looked very much on the defensive. "Ishnu dal dieb," the retired nightblade replied flatly. "You too." The way someone as ancient as Delebria would react so protectively to a teenager such as Issinia only made her feel even more guilty, as well as more determined to set things right between them.

Clearing her throat, Issinia tried to be as brief yet direct as possible. "I...am honored to know the both of you...and I'm sorry that I haven't spent more time with you on this trip," she said, taking care to choose her words wisely and beaming inside when Niorith smiled. "My mother had always spoken so highly of you both, and my family considers you one of our own. So please...if I've ever made a comment, or displayed via my actions, anything that upset you, then please let this holiday be my night of atonement. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize if I've ever made you feel uncomfortable. You are my mother's shield sisters, and I consider you my aunts. Please...come celebrate with us. The circle isn't whole without you."

She motioned over toward the group of other adults (plus Corrianna and Elindir II, who weren't exactly adults by elven standards), and Niorith looked from the group and back to her partner wistfully. Delebria continued to appear standoffish, and Issinia realized that the woman must have grown very aware of when people bristled at her orientation over the millennia.

Subtle yet noticeable, Niorith reached down with a gentleness that belied her profession and wrapped her hand daintily in between Delebria's fingers. The sight still perturbed Issinia somewhat, but after a great deal of soul searching, she'd made a resolution not to worry about things that weren't her business. As if detecting she shift in the teenager's demeanor, Delebria turned her head back, her movements still self assured and fierce even after injuries had ended her career. Aside from the fact that Issinia didn't prefer what they preferred, the sight of sharp featured Delebria almost coming nose to nose with the more subdued Niorith in a form of silent communication was actually cute.

Cautiously but not defensively, Delebria finally turned back to Issinia. "Thank you...we mean it," she spoke for both halves of the couple, and for a second Niorith almost smiled wide enough for her teeth to show before she quickly ducked down behind Delebria to hide it.

Issinia walked with them both over to the rest of their little circle there beneath the ancient of lore. Everyone greeted the newcomers, raising no eyebrows as Delebria and Niorith became just two more members of the group. Their candy was quickly finished before they could even distribute any more to recent arrivals at the city checkpoint, and hours were spent until the moon had nearly set and their stomachs were all rumbling for a proper meal. So happy were they all that even Niorith came partially out of her shell, singing far better than any of them and surprising them all with her talent. The ancient actually bobbed up and down at one point, garnering raucous laughter as a giant tree person actually tried to dance a little jig.

As much as Issinia missed her parents and siblings, she was absolutely grateful for the opportunity to have arrived there at Astranaar a little bit early that year. Without her direct relatives to run to, she'd finally forced herself to do more growing up in those two weeks than she had in the previous two years. And as they all waited for a very late night meal at the family's favorite fusion restaurant, she looked up at the moon as it gradually faded into the daylight.

"Thank you," she whispered, finding how much less stress she felt once she finally let go of her judgment. "I mean it."

 **A/N: thank you so, so much for those who read this far. This was primarily a growth story, and perhaps one with a bit of a personal twist. It's not the usual action adventure fare for Warcraft, but I hope that on some level, it still entertained and got you thinking.**

 **For those of you who plan on continuing in my stories, a short piece of pure fluff featuring Issinia's twin brother is coming up in a week or two. After that comes an ensemble piece in which she is part of a large cast of family and friends where they're trapped by a blizzard in a huntress lodge with each other, their hormones and...something sinister.**

 **Those and much more are on the way; check my Deviant Art account for a rough posting schedule. And for those who don't intend to continue on, I thank you regardless for reading. You're all awesome.**

 **But now, there's one more thread before 'The Deer Huntress' can be considered complete...**


	17. The Deer Huntress

For a good while, the fawn simply laid there in the grass, bleeding out into the ground as it felt its heart become more still and its respiration become more shallow. Those hideous features of the giant spider continued to glare at it, though all of the previous malice was long gone.

Before it even had a chance to react, the corpse of the disgusting arachnid was pulled away and kicked into a bush, out of view. A dark, shadowy figure loomed over the fawn, its two silver eyes casting the only light as the figure examined the small creature. Curled up and defenseless, the fawn found its nerves too frazzled to struggle anymore. Accepting its fate, it merely looked up at the powerful figure that knelt over it, its ears folding back against its head as it waited for yet more merciless, stinging pain to strike it.

But that pain never came. A bluish silver glow emitted from the elf's hands, radiating otherworldly light that elongated in strands and made the fawn flinch as it was attacked.

Rather than pain, the assault sent an incredible feeling of warmth throughout the fawn's back. Tissue and fibers reattached as the healing spell removed all the previous pain, soothing the fawn in a way it hadn't even known in its heretofore comfortable, easy life. A measure of strength returned to its skinny limbs as it struggled to its feet again, stretching its back to test the sudden lack of pain or blood.

The silver eyed elf ran her hand over the back of the fawn's head and down toward its haunches, petting it as gently as she would her own companion animal. Beyond the fawn's understanding, a person wielding a bow saved its life instead of taking its life for meat and leather, stunning the creature's innocent yet primitive mind.

Stroking its chin with her fingers, the elf looked into those two big eyes. You've been running for far too long, little deer. But if you'd only slowed down and reflected on the world around you, you could have avoided all that. You would have noticed that your salvation had been watching from the beginning, only for you to flee from it in your desperate attempt to protect yourself.

But no matter; the ordeal is over. Tonight, you live on; tonight, your second chance found you.

Nuzzling the nimble fingers one time, the fawn displayed its gratitude by the only means capable of it before prancing away. A formerly unseen path led it through the trees and toward another glade, this one filled with others of its kind; their white spots were all different, all unique, but the brown fur was the same. Just before it disappeared from the elf's sight, it turned around to glance one more time at its savior.

One day, you will not be so lucky. The circle of life is neither cruel nor fair; it simply is. The charge of all living things is to find their place in that circle, and to find a way to fit, perfectly or not. And when the time comes, every piece is replaced; at ease or with difficulty, all living things meet their end.

The memories of that harrowing night gradually fading from the primitive, naturalistic mind of the fawn, it turned tail and joined the others in the glade, prancing among the butterflies and drinking its fill of purified water. One day, that ease would come to and end again; one day, it, too, would be replaced as the cycle continued.

But not tonight, little deer. You found your way when you stopped running; your time has not come yet.

Not tonight.


End file.
